


Sweet as Coffee, Bitter as Sugar

by negativelyme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Family Dinners, Fluff, Frottage, Jealousy, M/M, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Rituals, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negativelyme/pseuds/negativelyme
Summary: “To put it simply, it sucked.  It sucked so bad.Because Derek had been gone for the past five years on a ‘mission.’And now he was back.”-Or the one where Derek acts even weirder than usual, and Stiles wants to know why, especially because he just figured out that they'remates.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 150
Kudos: 375





	1. There's No Place Like the Pack House

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes about the story:
> 
> 1) This story has A/B/O dynamics. These dynamics play a role in pack hierarchy as well as gender. Alpha/Beta/Omega has to do with werewolf hierarchy, and alpha/beta/omega has to do with gender. For example, in this story there are: Alpha alpha’s, Beta beta’s. Beta alpha’s, Beta omega’s, alpha’s, beta’s, and omega’s.  
> 2) For the sole purpose of canon-upkeep, Scott was willingly bitten by Derek, and his true Alpha power can be turned on, off, or shared in favor of submitting to another Alpha.  
> 3) There are slight gender roles, and subsequent discriminatory remarks, due to stereotypes and a/b/o needs.
> 
> Individual trigger warnings on each chapter will be made available.

_A crisp, cold morning welcomed the citizens of Mount Pleasant, Washington. The sun had risen hours ago, but the fog that had drifted in from the bay covered its light like a blanket. Its beauty was remarkable to those that wandered in on their pit-stop between destinations, but to those that lived in the town? It was the one thing that prevented the warm rays from enlightening the town like heaven. Heaven that would brighten even the darkest of—_

_The darkest of—_

_Of—_

God fucking damnit. Stiles threw his head back and groaned. It could _not_ be that hard to write a damn introduction. Formulate the plot, create the characters, pick out a setting, and then _write the damn thing._ The basic tenants of writing a book. And yet, here he was, rewriting and deleting the same sentence over, and over, and over again. Slumped in his desk chair, legs splayed open with his hands over his eyes. He roughly rubbed the base of his palms into them a few times before opening his eyelids and seeing those little fuzzy sparks. He tilted his head up and looked at the mark on his ceiling that had originated from him and Scott playing a _wonderful_ game of blindfolded darts when they were thirteen. Luckily Stiles only got away with a _minor_ trip to the hospital, but his dad wasn’t all too pleased.

He quirked an eyebrow and smiled suddenly, his eyes trailing back down to his laptop. He set his fingers on the keyboard and swiftly began typing again.

 _Heaven that would brighten even the darkest of hearts. It was what the town needed, especially after the most recent turn-of-events. In fact, Mount Pleasant had a dark secret._

_It was now the host of a budding serial killer._

_A serial killer that had supposedly been dead for fifty years._

Grabbing his phone, Stiles pushed away from his desk and turned in a circle. He knew that he had finally written something worthwhile. He quickly sent out a text to Scott.

**Stiles: Don’t ask why but thanx for almost killing me when we were 13.**

The three dots showed up on his screen and then quickly disappeared.

 **Scotty Boy: All in a day’s work my man. Coming to the bbq?**

**Stiles: Fuck no. Gotta work on this hell-script.**

**Scotty Boy: Red Eyes’ll be there.**

Stiles took a deep shuttering breath and willed his heart to slow down.

**Stiles: Be there @ 6.**

He set his phone down, rose from his chair, and jumped headfirst into his _huge_ nest of pillows. Stiles’ heart continued to quicken until it was just a thundering noise in his ears. Turning his head to the side, he stared out his window to see the ample clouds of fog rolling in. Of course the fucking death weather chose _now_ of all days to show up. Thanks Beacon Hills. For being as predictable as Stiles’ love for all things food-related. 

Stiles took a few more shaky breaths before his eyes glazed over, and he allowed himself to take a quick nap. Derek was coming. He was going to be in Beacon Hills. What was Stiles going to do? What was he going to say?

Oh fuck. What was he going to _wear?_

~

Now, everybody that was anybody knew that Stiles had had the biggest crush on a Mr. Derek Hale since he had emerged from the woods all those years ago. 

And by anybody, he meant him and Scott.

But yeah. Stiles had pined for years. He had patiently waited through those brutal years in high school, all those nights where he palmed himself through his boxers waiting for his dick to just _calm down_ (‘C’mon, man, his leather jacket isn’t _that_ hot.’), the many pack meetings where he was forced to stare at the older man who wore shirts that were just a _tad_ on the tight side, and the moment when he first felt fucking _wet._

Now, sure, it was entirely normal for everyone to present when they turned eighteen, but Stiles expected something a little more dignified. Not to say that sitting in his AP Calculus class and all of a sudden feeling the need to take something up his ass wasn’t anything less than dignified, but still. His father was a beta, his grandfather was a beta, and he sure as shit thought he was going to be a beta. Nope. To his surprise, (but seriously, with his luck- was it really a surprise?), he was born with the inherent _blessing_ of producing lube au-natural.

Alas, as he struggled through those many nights where he arched his back and writhed on his bed, and the following mornings where he stuffed his sheets into the washing machine before his dad could ask why the house smelled so _heavy_ , he thought of Mr. Has-A-Permanent-Scowl-On-His-Face. To put it simply, it sucked. It sucked so bad.

Because Derek had been gone for the past five years on a ‘mission.’ 

Or whatever-the-fuck you want to call a trip where you:

  1. Tell your pack via text that you’re having an emergency meeting.
  2. Refuse to tell anyone where you’re going. (Bets were made on whether it was Venezuela, Hawaii, or just holing up in the new McDonald’s down the street.)
  3. Only allow three questions. (One of which Jackson used to ask ‘Did you finally get tired of being a shitty Alpha?’ to which Derek flashed his eyes and almost tore a hole through his favorite chair.)
  4. Appoint Scott “Interim-Alpha _”_ despite his many protests. (‘Seriously, Derek, what the fuck?’)
  5. And finally: say goodbye to, and scent, everyone _except_ Stiles.



Now, Stiles would never openly admit he was upset when that happened. But he was fucking upset. The wolf pointedly wouldn’t even meet Stiles’ eyes when he gave his monologue about why he was leaving. Something having to do with “pack arrangements, alignments, and agreements.” Which might’ve been total bullshit? It was definitely total bullshit. C’mon. It was _Derek Hale._ Alpha Werewolf who had to bring in his own sister just to negotiate which Beta- Jackson or Erica- got to take the third largest bedroom in the house (Erica ended up winning because she had a mate, and Jackson, well, he was a grade-A douche).

He wasn’t the _best_ Alpha, but he did know every intricacy of his pack. He knew when to shut up and let his Betas talk, when to schedule meetings (Thursday nights because that’s when everyone was free- plus Wednesdays were out because those were go-go nights at their local bar, and _no one_ liked missing out on them), and every single person’s favorite food (which made for a _very_ interesting buffet). He tried his best, and that’s what anyone could ask for. He was a good Alpha.

Which is why it was so fucking strange that he up and dipped one day.

One day he was bringing Scott and Stiles’ ice cream because they had aced their Chemistry tests, the next, he was in Spain? Canada? Oh god, not _Florida?_

Regardless of _where_ he settled (totally Florida), Stiles was the slowest to adapt. Sure, the rest of the pack was greatly affected due to either 1) being Bitten by Derek or 2) being related to Derek, but Stiles was just… not okay. 

Especially because the day in question had been the day right before Stiles’ 18th. He didn’t expect any grand gesture or present (‘Derek, oh my god, can you _please_ get me a fake ID?’ ‘You’re a child.’ ‘No, I’m not,’ he said while he had been watching Spongebob), but he sure as shit didn’t expect Derek to just fucking _leave._

But now, after all this years, he was back. Derek was coming _home._

And Stiles was going out of his _mind._

Not only had he gone through five pair of pants and twelve different shirts in search of the perfect outfit that would make his ass look amazing, but he had restyled his hair _seven_ times- it was a fucking record _._ He was now staring at himself in his floor length mirror (‘Girls aren’t the only ones who like to look good, _Scott.’_ ) and trying to figure out whether to wear black converse, or oh god forbid, his _white_ converse. His eyes trailed over his reflection and took in the muscle that had decided to join his company in the past few years. He was no longer a slender, gangly-limbed eighteen-year-old; he was a slightly bigger, gangly-limbed twenty-three-year-old. He figured it was an improvement, albeit a small one. 

Nonetheless, he knew he definitely looked significantly better if his impressive _three college_ _hook-ups_ were anything to go by. But now he had to impress Derek, which was no small feat. The guy had barely dated, or even looked at, anyone since Jennifer and She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Stiles didn’t even know if Derek was interested in the male-persuasion, but seeing as how he was a beta, he figured it was somewhat possible. Stiles knew that beta-omega pairs weren’t unheard of, but they were still way less likely to form than alpha-omega’s, beta-beta’s, and alpha-beta’s. So not only did his dick probably put him at a significant disadvantage, but his slick ass didn’t do much good for him either.

And _how_ exactly did Stiles know that Derek was a beta? Well, he never took a “vacation” for a few days every other month, never once mentioned how amazing omega’s or alpha’s smelled, and never said _otherwise._ Still, the rest of the pack decided upon themselves- and by pack, it meant Stiles- to start a bet going on what he was. Scott, Isaac, and Erica decided on alpha; Jackson, Stiles, and Boyd on beta; and Lydia and Allison on omega. 

Everyone had their reasons:

Scott: _Dude there’s no other way in hell that he could look like that._ (To which Jackson said “steroids,” and everyone took _that_ thought into consideration.)

Lydia: _He’s so pretty, guys._ (‘That’s my brother, babe.’ ‘See? The trait runs in the family.’)

Erica: _Of course he has a fucking knot. Dude, c’mon._ (To which Stiles looked down at his hands and pretended to find his cuticles extremely interesting.)

Jackson: _He’s not cool enough to be an alpha._ (‘Aren’t you a beta, Jackson?’ ‘Fuck you.’)

Isaac: _I can just, uhm, tell._ (His cheeks flared red.)

Stiles: _He’s never taken vacation for a rut or heat, guys._ (‘Suppressants, Stiles.’)

Boyd: _I seriously don’t care. I just wanna prove Erica wrong._ (Stiles barely caught the ‘No handcuffs for a month’ under Erica’s breath; he wondered who used them, and who they were used _on._ )

Allison: _I think it’d be fun to know he has a soft side._ (‘Fuck you, I’m not soft.’ ‘Stiles, you’re literally wearing fluffy slippers right now.’ ‘Shut up, it’s cold.’ ‘It’s seventy-five degrees.’)

This entire conversation happened while Cora was sitting on her girlfriend’s lap and pointedly not taking a side. Her eyes darted from person-to-person as they made their arguments. Once they were all done, they looked at her.

“So, what is he Cor? What are we working with here?” Erica wagged her eyebrows and snuggled deeper into the couch, her arms wrapped around Boyd.

“Y’all are fucking weird.”

“C’mon, tell us. You know you want us to know,” Stiles urged as he tucked his legs under himself and shoved a few more hundred Cheez-its into his mouth. Cora looked up at him, and Stiles swore she flashed her gold omega eyes.

“Trust me, Stiles, you don’t want to.” Stiles knew she was joking, but there was something in her statement that sounded a bit wary. Her eyes stared directly at his for another second before focusing on the girl behind her and puckering her lips. Stiles shook it off.

“Fine. Now, new bet: does Jackson secretly wish he was an omega?”

The room got extremely loud after that. Words were screamed, objects were thrown, and if Derek asked, his favorite lamp had been broken because of an open window and a badly-thrown baseball.

~

So there he was. Sitting in his run-down, blue jeep, outside of the Hale house, his hands thrumming against the wheel. He had decided on his ass-accentuating black jeans, a gray t-shirt that fit wonderfully, and his _black_ converse. He looked great, smelled decent enough, and he was extremely excited to see his pack-mates.

So why was his heart beating at the rate of a hummingbird’s? Oh, that’s right. The handsome and brooding man he had fallen in love with was currently behind the front door, or outside drinking a beer, or some other version that Stiles had maybe-not-so-casually dreamt about.

He leaned his head back and dug his fingers into his slim thighs, smoothing out the kinks that he didn’t know he had. His muscles just wouldn’t stop being _tense._ He was a great big ball of stress. What if Derek decided not to show? Or he locked himself away? Told Stiles to leave? He shut his eyes tightly and felt tears start to form.

“Fuck off fucking hormones, Jesus fucking Christ. I swear to fucking g—,” Stiles went to slam his fist against the wheel when a tentative knock shook him out of his daze. He peered to his left and saw his floppy-haired best friend. Well, his hair wasn’t exactly so floppy anymore- instead gelled slightly back and styled in a way that once, in a particularly favorite bar of Stiles’, had attracted some _dick-owning_ patrons. Though Scott hadn’t exactly reciprocated their feelings, Stiles never let him forget it. Did he mention that said patrons had been, uhm, _performers_?

Scott opened the door to an angry-looking Stiles and sighed, “’Kay bud, we don’t need you rage-breaking your fragile omega hands.” Scott pressed down the button to release Stiles’ seatbelt and urged him out of the car with a hand on his shoulder. It comforted the younger one slightly, and he let out a shaky breath.

He mumbled a quick thanks before looking down and scuffing his shoe against the dirt road. “I _am_ excited to see you. I promise,” the corner of his lips quirked up in a slight smile as he lightly punched his no-we’re-not-actually-related brother’s shoulder. “You and all your alpha-ness.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed as he shoved his friend back, “Shut up, you missed all this.” He gestured to himself, did a twirl, and tried not to glare _harder_ as Stiles held in a laugh.

“Yeah, because _that’s_ why I came.”

Scott paused, “Seriously, you okay?”

“Yep. Great. Fantastic. Hey, did you guys paint the house?”

“ _Stiles._ ” 

Stiles’ heart stuttered, and he looked ready to break. Shaking his head, his eyes gazed out over at the trees that lined the property. Throughout all the dry periods that had hit Beacon Hills in the past few years, the trees still had their prominent stature. The Preserve was a home away from home, and the green foliage drew him in like a beacon. Even though he hadn’t been at the house in a while- if anyone asked, he was _“Busy working on my novel, guys.”_ The truth of the matter was: he didn’t know how he could step foot in the house that belonged to _Him._ In fact, pack meetings were now held in a restaurant (it had been extremely hard to coordinate food tastes); something Scott planned when he figured out why Stiles was _actually_ missing meetings.

But now, he didn’t quite know how to put into words exactly what he was feeling, and he wasn’t necessarily prepared to spill it all out on the front lawn.

“Wanna talk about it?” Scott’s eyes glistened, but didn’t flash. He knew how much Stiles’ hated an alpha using their eyes. It made him feel weaker than his own biology did. 

“No, I,” he shook his head again and wiped the liquid that had apparently gathered on his cheeks. His best friend gripped his forearm and dug his fingertips in gently. It was comforting. Honestly. “I just wanna go in. Can we?”

Scott smiled at Stiles fondly, nodded, and they both started heading in. He dug his hands in his pockets and made sure everything was right where it had to be. He swung an arm around the shorter boy and shook him a bit, “Allison made dumplings.”

“Doesn’t Isaac usually bring fruit salad?”

“So?”

“They don’t even fucking go together!” Stiles mumbled exasperated before trudging up the front steps.

“Deal with it.”

Stiles nodded before he remembered something Scott had said moments earlier, “Oh, by the way, I’m not fragile you dick.”

“Stiles, you were literally just crying.” Scott chuckled as he pushed open the door.

“Fuck off.”

~

Stiles’ felt every single pack bond the minute he stepped across the threshold. He knew Allison and Isaac were arguing about _how_ to set-up the dinner table (‘We should order the food by color, Ally.’ ‘No, the food should be by each person who _brought_ it.’). Jackson was currently upside down? Yeah, okay, he was hanging off the couch and leafing through a magazine. Lydia and Cora were, okay, well, they were in a bedroom, definitely _not_ getting ready. Boyd and Erica were talking softly about how they were going to arrange the chips so that no one noticed they were half-gone. Stiles’ heart _soared_ , and he instantly settled into his little family.

Scott’s warm hand was still around his upper back as he pushed Stiles into the kitchen. Everyone went quiet before they virtually dog-piled him (he promised he’d only make that joke once in awhile). Allison and Isaac both made desperate grabs for him at the same time which resulted in her thumping Isaac on the forehead. His lips turned downward before Scott nudged his shoulder with his free hand, and his cheeks turned red. _Hm._

“God, I missed you. Well, we all did. But I did _the most,_ ” Ally wrapped her arms tightly around Stiles and scented behind his earlobe. Stiles hummed contentedly before kissing her cheek and looking around. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd followed suit to a lesser extent before mulling about their activities. Jackson just yelled out a non-threatening _“Welcome back dickface_.” Stiles almost didn’t notice the small note of affection behind the words. 

Cora and Lydia were preoccupied, but he didn’t mind; he’d see them at dinner.

What bugged him was the slight buzzing under his skin. He noticed someone was missing.

“Where’s—,” Scott sighed and nodded his head toward the door that led out onto the back porch.

“He hasn’t told us why,” he licked his top lip, “why he’s back. I don’t know if he will.” His eyes flashed, and Allison stepped in to place a hand on the back of his neck. Isaac started to do the same thing, but stopped and instead continued to chop up some carrots. _Interesting._

“All right,” Stiles nudged Scott’s shoulder one more time before approaching the door and sliding it open. Stepping through it, he was quickly met with the familiar smells of the woods. The river straight ahead gurgled along, fresh in his nose and pleasant in his ear. The animals were quiet in their mewling but were always watching. He once stumbled upon a family of deer, and Scott had to beg him not to take one home (‘They have your eyes, Scott.’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘He’s got a point, babe.’). His eyes trailed up the sky and noticed the tendrils of pink and orange that were peeking through the haze of clouds. It was going to be a beautiful sunset. It always was.

He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and the buzzing that had been bugging him grew more intense. His heart grew heavy in his chest as he scrunched his eyebrows together. It was familiar. What he smelled was nothing new. The trees, animals, stream, fresh dew from the slight rain earlier.

But there was something else. Something that felt more like home.

He opened his eyes, and they fell on the form that was faced away from him and leaning against the wood railing. The man’s back was tense, covered in a black cotton shirt, sleeves clinging to his arms. His legs were crossed at the ankles, relaxed, like nothing could bother him here. He was beautiful.

As he took another deep lungful of the scent that was currently infiltrating all his senses, his breath hitched. It was familiar, yes, but it was still so _different._ It was sunrise on a foggy morning. It was pine trees and freshly cut grass. It was cinnamon, strong and fierce. It was black coffee, warm and the perfect start to every morning. Coffee, it was _coffee_. 

It was the smell he had been waiting for since he was eighteen. 

It smelled like his other-half, his _mate_.

The person heard his change in breathing, turned around, and looked at him.

“Derek?”

“Stiles.”


	2. Some Unfortunately-Planned Lasagna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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When Stiles was younger, he remembers sitting on the couch in the den, chewing on a cookie that his mother made, and swinging his little legs to the rhythm of the music on the radio. He remembers his father sitting next to him, a glass of milk in his hand and nervous smile on his face. Remembers his mother placing a kiss on his father’s head as she moved around to nuzzle Stiles’ forehead with her cheek. Remembers her sitting on the armchair next to them and folding her legs to sit more comfortably.

“Mieczysław,” his mother said lightly. His brown eyes, wide in their size, and curious in their temperament, looked over at her. “Baby, do you remember what your father and I told you a while ago? About being what you are, like me?”

The boy munched on his cookie and nodded thoughtfully. Mouth full, he responded, “Mmph, I’m hunique ‘n scmhell ghood tuh serten peopull.” He smiled toothily, chocolate chips stuck in between his front teeth.

His mother laughed quietly and shook her head; her mate chastising their son to swallow before talking. “Oh, hush, John, it’s quite cute. You’re my little mischief, aren’t you baby?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically before swallowing the last part of the cookie and licking his fingers. Once he finished, he made grabby hands toward his mom, and the woman picked him up. Finally settling down in her lap, albeit only slightly, his mother took one of his hands in hers and squeezed.

“Well, yes, sweetheart, that’s true. You do smell good. Like cotton candy and,” she sniffed behind his neck, and he giggled, “bacon? John!” Her husband ducked his head and shrugged his shoulders in a way that said _‘I only gave him one piece, Claudia.’_

She smiled fondly and rubbed her cheek against the boy’s, continuing on. “You’re going to smell wonderful to a _lot_ of people, so you need to be careful. But there’s one person who’s going to love your smell more than everyone else.”

“Like you and dad?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she said, with a hint of amusement, “like me and your father.”

He nodded like he understood and then tugged on his mother’s hand, “But, mom?”

“Yes, my little darling?”

“How will I know who they are?”

His mother smiled softly, cradled her boy to her chest, and let out a gentle sigh. Looking over at her husband, the man who smelled like sweet honey, whiskey, and her childhood home, she couldn’t wait for her boy, her little Stiles, to find his person.

“You just will.”

~

So when Stiles anticipated meeting his mate for the first time, he certainly didn’t expect _this_ to happen. 

Sure, he thought maybe the person would grasp him tightly, twirl him around and then place a hard, but wonderfully tantalizing kiss on his lips. Would take him into their bedroom to claim him, mark him as their own. Would whisper sweet nothings about how they’d grow old together and create a family that would bring them joy and happiness.

But, now, knowing it was Derek? He just wished for a gentle, maybe slightly lingering, hug. He knew that the man wasn’t too affectionate, but a hug also didn’t seem like too much. After all, he could smell his musky undertones on the rest of the pack, so the thought wasn’t too far-fetched. He had been a little hesitant, though, given the fact that all those years prior Derek had barely even looked in his direction as he left. So sure, Stiles was _not_ expecting any grand confession of love or “Dear god, Stiles, I yearned for you.” Maybe a nod, a small apology, a smile.

But not _this._

 _This_ being Derek’s clenched fists, his sudden shift in demeanor, and the hint of red bleeding into his irises. Stiles knew his breathing was steady, but his curious look at Derek’s neck indicated the fact that his pulse was quickening. Derek’s eyes followed the movement and swallowed, his jaw tensing. Stiles quickly casted his eyes downward in a slight show of submission; he wasn’t a wolf, but the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. Usually it’d appease any Alpha. It didn’t this time.

Derek huffed, shook his head, and strutted closer to the omega. His scent grew stronger, and all Stiles could smell was coffee, more bitter than before. _Wait, what?_ Sniffing again, Stiles took a slight step forward, trying to get to the source of the change in mood. A loud rumble emanated from Derek’s chest, alerting Stiles to back off.

_What the fuck was happening?_

As Derek passed Stiles and his nostrils flared, Stiles thought he’d smile. That was his heart wishing. What he got was a look of distaste and a shaking of his head. 

_He was being disregarded._

Stiles’ heart crumbled, and his own scent turned sour. He thought he heard a whimper from the wolf beside him but decided himself naïve.

For every time that he found himself unable to stop babbling, he sure as hell was quiet now. Words twirled in his throat but could form no cohesive sentence. He finally managed to mumble something that sounded like _Derek_ when the man finally stopped and met his eyes.

The red was still there, faint, but present. There was also a hint of _something else_. Something that spoke to Stiles’ innate biology; something that told him to take care of the man and offer his throat in supplication. 

The look in Derek’s eyes was not disgust, but it wasn’t interest either. It was _tolerance._

_Stiles didn’t want to be tolerated._

“Derek, I,” he paused as he felt the syllables on his tongue, “we need to ta—.” He stopped as the man ignored him and continued to walk to the door that led into the house.

“Dinner’s ready,” he grumbled unpleasantly before striding forward a few more steps.

“No, Derek, stop. Let me finish. I,” his eyes widened as the wolf growled and ignored him, _again._ Stiles’ heart thudded faster in his chest, his palms becoming sweaty. He started to panic, his eyes flicking back and forth between the Alpha’s neck and the environment around him. His pain quickly morphed to frustration, and he knew that if he was Bitten, he’d be growling right now, too. He realized what was happening. He was being rejected. By his Alpha…his _mate._

“ _Stop._ ”

The wolf listened, finally, as his limbs appeared to strain against the command. Both boys went stock-quiet at the actions of one other. Stiles just wanted to communicate; he just wanted to fucking talk. Why couldn’t Derek just listen?

“Stiles, _please,”_ Derek sounded absolutely defeated. His tone, to anyone else, would’ve sounded assertive and full of ready-to-unleash wrath. It would’ve sounded threatening, something reminiscent of a command that his Betas would be unable to ignore. But Stiles was _not_ everyone else. He knew that this command was not instructive; Derek was _begging_. “Dinner’s. Ready.”

And with that, Derek moved inside, leaving Stiles alone to his own devices.

Stiles stood there dumbfounded, his heart beating erratically. _What the fuck?_ Stiles looked around at the peace that the forest provided him, his eyes flicking to every new noise he encountered. As they settled upon two birds nesting on the branch of the nearest tree, he sighed in acceptance. Nodding his head, he moved confidently towards the back door to the house.

His head held high, he started toward the dining table that was currently hidden from view. He was willing and determined. Ready.

Ready to figure out what the fuck was going on with Derek Hale.

~

Dinner started out just fine. Fine was generous considering the fact that Derek and Stiles sat at the heads of the table. True, Derek always sat at the head, and Scott usually accompanied him, but not tonight. Due to Jackson being an absolute dick-wad, and Scott taking it upon himself to sit between Allison and Isaac- once again, interesting enough to warrant Stiles _definitely_ interrogating him about it later- Stiles ended up not sitting in his normal seat. Erica, Boyd, Lydia, and Cora on one side, and the other four opposing them. That left Stiles where he was, and Derek where _he_ was. Which was currently where he was brooding with a small grimace of discomfort to match. Nothing new.

The first few minutes were comfortable. Stiles assumed Isaac had won his argument with Allison earlier because the table was organized in rainbow-fashion. This argument also prompted him to run outside because it reminded him that he had left his lasagna in the car. Said lasagna was currently sitting in front of him because it was red, and his end of the table was the beginning, _apparently._ It was still bubbling because he chose to heat it up in the oven before they all sat down (this was done to Allison’s uncontained discomfort because it fucked with her carefully—planned schedule of who got the oven when—which is why Cora’s loaded bacon baked potatoes were a _little_ cold). 

The minutes after that were just fine, too. Everyone passed around their food in a clockwise motion, orderly and no doubt because of Allison’s ministrations. Even though her rules were sometimes headache-inducing, she did have the right idea. Her way of moving the food around only helped speed up the process. Everyone always loved every single dish, so there was never an empty plate in the pack. Not only could werewolves eat, but they could fucking _eat._

Speaking of the food, it all looked fucking _fantastic_. Stiles was extremely excited to pick apart his own dish, but he also focused in on the European-looking dessert that was currently in Jackson’s hands. It looked absolutely incredible; there was caramel pooling in the serving dish and fresh whipped cream on each slice. Pieces of macadamia nut completely covered the top, but they almost looked like they were in a pattern. He was ready to have it in his belly. It was all he could focus on.

As his dish finally got back to him, he knew everyone was ready to dig in. He dug his fork into his own lasagna and brought it up to his mouth. He groaned in happiness as the conversations around him started back up. Eyeing every one of his pack-mates, he knew he was finally back where he belonged.

“So, Cora and I have an announcement,” Lydia interrupted the silence before grasping her partner’s hand below the table and squeezing it. 

“Oh god, please don’t tell me you got her knocked up,” Jackson groaned out as Allison hit him in the shoulder. “Seriously, they have knotting condoms, y’know.”

“Jackson, oh my god! Shut _up_.” Erica threw a piece of bread at the Beta’s face.

“Oh, oh my,” Cora stuttered out and buried her face into her alpha’s neck.

“No, Jax, she isn’t. Not _yet_ anyway,” Lydia said with a wink and kissed Cora’s head. “We’re getting officially Mated, guys.” The smile that they both had when looking at one another was proof enough. They absolutely loved each other.

“That’s incredible! Congrats, guys,” Erica practically screamed before pushing her Mate out of the way to high five Lydia as best as she could. Coincidentally, Boyd was now rubbing his chest where Erica’s fist had been.

“Yeah, way to be tied down,” Jackson muttered with a scoff, but underneath that façade was a boy who was trying to hold back tears. Sometimes, when no one was looking, Jackson _actually_ appeared to have a heart. A heart that he only showed to a select few. In fact, on the weekends, he volunteered at a youth-support center that housed teens and children from abusive homes. Meeting Isaac really changed him. It made him better.

“Thank you, Jax, you’re _so_ kind,” Lydia rolled her eyes and looked at Stiles with something hopeful in her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Wha—? I didn’t even ask!” Stiles chuckled to himself at the remark and held out his hand to reach her. Lydia took it, heart beating in her chest, and mumbled a small ‘thank you.’ An alpha showing this much sentiment was often reserved for their partner, and their partner only, but Stiles’ agreement to be her witness was an easily-made exception.

Cora smiled in reassurance and turned her head towards her brother, who was currently munching on some fruit that Isaac had put together. She opened her mouth before closing it again, thinking more than was necessary. “Derek, I was wondering, if you’d be my witness?”

A few moments passed.

The table went quiet.

Normally, if someone was asked to be a Mate-witness, they’d accept, unequivocally and wholeheartedly. It was the next honor to being Mated, actually. If a pair of mates wanted you to sit in and view their official Mating, then they trusted you completely. Which is why Stiles hadn’t even hesitated. He had had a crush on Lydia since they were children, and he was jealous when she started courting different betas and omegas. The minute she met Cora, however, all that jealousy went away. He knew they were meant to be, and he was happy for them. Their relationship morphed into one that mimicked siblings. Of course he’d be her witness.

Which is why Derek not answering Cora’s question with an automatic yes was fucking strange. They were _actually siblings._

“Derek? Did you hear me?” Cora’s voice shook a bit. Anyone around the table could tell she was terrified of a refusal. Judging by the way Derek was still silent, she had a right to be. 

It was weird, though. Derek had been overjoyed when Cora came home and introduced Lydia five years ago (‘She’s super fucking dope, Der. And holy shit, she smells like dark chocolate. _Derek._ ’). There had been a party—it had been small until Erica got her grimy hands on it; they were still cleaning ass glitter out of the guest bedroom’s floorboards—and Derek had even made a speech.

Stiles stared at the man who was currently brooding harder than usual; seriously, was that even possible? His eyebrows were furrowed in a scowl, eyes glued on the food in front of him. Stiles wondered what he was thinking.

“I know you haven’t had one, yet, but that’s no reason to be a fucking asshole,” Lydia blurted out, her fists clenched by her plate.

“That’s not it,” oh, good, the Alpha finally spoke.

“Oh? So then what warrants you ignoring your sister when she asks you to be a part of our ceremony? Seriously who do you think you a—” Her rant was cut off when Derek roared, slammed his fist down, and flashed his eyes in her direction. If the conversation hadn’t quieted the pack down, _that_ certainly would’ve done the trick. Stiles held his breath.

“I never said no. I just,” he huffed, exhausted, and rubbed his hand over his eyes. Stiles smelled shame, frustration, and, sorrow? Stiles knew he was probably pissed at the way the proposal was turning out, but he didn’t understand why he was so sad. He whimpered so softly that no one would’ve noticed.

But Derek did. And in response he let out a soft whine from his chest; his eyes fading back to their emerald state.

“I’m sorry. Of course I’ll be your witness,” he said with a soft smile. Lydia still had her jaw clenched, but she nodded in affirmation and leant over to scent her girlfriend. At the pleasant way her face morphed, Stiles guessed that Cora was no longer upset. In fact, she bent over slightly and whispered into Lydia’s ear, soft enough that no one could hear it, not even the Alpha. Lydia’s eyes flickered over to Stiles in response before landing on Derek. The gesture was almost unnoticeable. Almost.

“Thank you, and I’m sorry, for snapping. Cor’s just important to me,” she tilted her head in submission to the Alpha, and he nodded in affirmation. Just like that, the conversation was over.

“All right, now that that’s over, I’m fucking starving.”

“Stiles you’re always hungry.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Fuck off, Scott,” as Stiles all but shoved his entire plate into his face. Daring a quick look up at Derek, he almost didn’t register that the Alpha had been staring back, a look of suppressed wonder in his eyes.

~

“If I eat one more bread roll, I think I’ll explode,” Stiles grunted as he leaned towards the coffee table to get yet another roll. When his arm wouldn’t reach, he groaned and slumped back onto the couch. “I’ll get you sooner or later, you delicious bastard.”

Erica chuckled as she sat across from him, sipping on her decaf tea. It was perfectly hot, the teabag still steeping because Erica _swore_ that it still worked even after being oversaturated for more than ten minutes. It smelled like chamomile and lavender; her personal favorite. It _definitely_ wasn’t her favorite because her mate smelled like chamomile. Taking another sip, she rested the mug on her knee and looked over at Stiles’ hand. It was lazily running along the bottom of his stomach.

“So Stiles. Find a mate yet?” Erica batted her eyelashes and thrummed her fingers on the rim of her mug.

“Wha—?” Stiles snapped his eyes away from the super-interesting picture of the San Francisco Bay to look at the blonde wolf. His mind flickered to the thought of a certain red-eyed wolf before shaking his head. “Oh, uh, no. Not yet.” 

“There’s gotta be _someone._ You’ve been away for so long. You probably have someone hidden away,” she supplied, amusement in her eyes.

“I’ve been busy with my book. I’m focusing on that.”

“Yeah, he’d probably have to kidnap someone for them to sleep with him anyway,” Jackson half-yelled from his lying-down position on the floor beside the electric fireplace. Ever since the Hale fire, the only flames that were allowed in the house were fake electric ones. The pack didn’t mind; not only did they want their Alpha happy, but it cost less to upkeep.

Stiles scoffed and sat up, perching himself on his elbows. “I’ll have you know that over _three_ people would disagree with you. Thank you very much,” he said, popping his lip and sneering playfully. Jackson put him hands up in mock defeat.

Stiles thought he saw a flash of red in the den before shaking his head and turning his attention back on Erica who was currently asking him something. “Hm?”

“Do you want me to set you up?” Erica asked, pulling out her phone.

Stiles laughed wholeheartedly and shook his head, “No, I’m good, Erica.”

“C’mon, Stiles, you stink. You could use any help you could get.”

Stiles peered over the couch to see Jackson looking at his fingernails. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re starting to smell. More than usual,” he responded before pushing up from the floor and making his way to the kitchen.

“Must be the new body wash,” Stiles mumbled to himself before turning to Erica, “Do I smell?”

Erica poked her nose up and sniffed a few times before a peculiar look came on her face. “Kinda? You smell like,” she paused and sniffed once again, “you usually do? But more… like you haven’t showered. Kinda ripe, man.”

Stiles quickly sniffed his shirt, embarrassed. He had showered before he got here, so he knew he was clean. His body-wash had been sold out at the store so he had had to buy some off-brand scent neutralizer. His father had told him that as soon as he turned eighteen, scent neutralizer was his best option. Though every single alpha, beta, and omega had a particular scent, it became significantly stronger with the turning of age. The neutralizer helped anyone who either wanted to hide their scent almost completely, wanted to only smell like their significant other, or had a scent that was unappealing or too strong. Stiles fell into the latter.

Time and time again, Stiles had been told that his scent was _“interesting.”_ The term was usually followed by a date crawling out of a restaurant bathroom window or subtly never talking to him again. He was used to not smelling good to anyone. Maybe that was why Derek didn’t want to be around him? Just because Derek was his person didn’t mean he automatically liked his scent. Maybe he found Stiles so foul that he refused to indulge the thought that they’d ever be mates. Stiles had heard about one-sided mate-pairings, but he had never thought it would happen to him. He couldn’t lie; it fucking hurt.

“Ah, well, I had to buy this new shit, so maybe that’s why,” he trailed off.

Erica thought for a moment before a lightbulb went off. “Hey, I mean you could be—,” a growl cut Erica off. 

Stiles’ followed its sound, and his eyes met that of red ones. “Derek?”

“Get out,” the Alpha rasped through his fangs. They weren’t entirely dropped, but they were starting to.

Stiles shook his head and pursed his lips, “Wait, what?” Looking over at Erica, he saw the same look of confusion. He swore he had heard wrong.

Derek stood there, his fists clenched white by his sides and eyes bleeding the darkest shade of crimson. His breath came out in fast pants. “I said,” he stepped closer, “get the _fuck_ out of my house.” He stepped forward with every word until his hands were pressing into the arm of the couch. Stiles looked up at him, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight before him.

Stiles’ heart thudded in his chest. Derek had never, _never,_ raised his voice at a pack-mate unless they had done something seriously wrong. Like the time Scott charged into a faerie den because he thought Allison was being held hostage. Or the time Jackson was too cocky and thought he could fight a dozen elves by himself. Or when Stiles burned his hand for the umpteenth time after being reminded to ‘ _Just wear some fucking gloves, Stiles_.’ But this? This was no voice-raising. This was an Alpha, establishing his dominance by almost showing his half-shift. This show of dominance would have been enough for any Beta to cower and offer their neck.

But Stiles wasn’t any Beta.

He had always taken pride in the fact that he wasn’t the typical omega. He didn’t cower in fear of any dumbass knothead alphas or holier-than-thou betas. He was strong, independent, and didn’t usually take shit from anyone. Sure, he liked the comfier qualities of an omega’s status—their need to be cared for, their love of all things soft, and their love of cooking—but he still held his head high whenever someone tried to put him down for his biology. His dad always taught him to stand up for himself.

Which is why, despite his innate instinct to whine and bear his neck, he didn’t.

“Excuse me?” Stiles bit out as he rose from the couch and took the few steps to where Derek still had his claws in the couch material. The older man detached himself and turned to look at him.

No one could deny that the five years that had passed had done well for both of them. Derek had aged, but beautifully, and Stiles had grown into his lithe frame and was now gracefully built. So when the two men stood toe to toe, the only difference was their height; Derek was still taller by a few inches. Which is why Stiles was currently looking up at him, a look of defiance in his eyes.

There was no reason that Stiles could think of as to why Derek wanted to kick him out. He didn’t think he had said, nor done, anything wrong. I mean, maybe it had to do with what Jackson said. Did he really smell that bad? He honestly didn’t think that was a good enough reason, but no one ever understood Derek. What Stiles _did_ understand is fucking pissed off the Alpha was right now.

“You heard me, Stiles. Don’t make me say it again,” he gritted his teeth and avoided the boy’s eyes, staring at the wall behind him. Stiles noticed.

He stepped an inch closer and crossed his arms, his breath ghosting along Derek’s chin as he looked up at him. “No, I _don’t_ think I heard you right,” he paused and darted his tongue out to wet his lips, “it _sounds_ like you want to kick me out without telling me why. So I must be hearing it wrong. Tell me again, _Alpha_ ,” he pressed.

Derek let out another rumble from his chest, closing his eyes tightly. Stiles smelled blood and looked down. Derek’s claws were biting into his own palms. He was fighting his shift.

The Alpha opened his eyes, as red as the blood stains on the floor, and stared directly at Stiles’. “I said. Go home, _omega_.” 

The word sounded like poison on Derek’s lips. A glass dropped and shattered nearby, alerting Stiles to the fact that him and Derek were not alone. The entire pack had witnessed the scene unfold. And if their faces were any indication, they were all feeling the same thing: confusion, shock, and anger. The entire conversation was already pushing the line, but Derek’s use of Stiles’ gender was what crossed it. It wasn’t that Derek said it, it was _how_ he said it. Like Stiles was the scum of the Earth and the only thing he was good for was bending over at the request of an alpha.

Stiles took a step back, his breathing now matching Derek’s in frequency. “ _Don’t_ call me that.”

“It’s what you are, right? I mean you do parade around smelling like _that_ , so you must want attention,” Derek growled out.

Stiles never wanted to admit when he was sad, which is why he refused to continue the conversation he was having with Scott earlier. So the fact that he had to hide how absolutely heartbroken he was at Derek’s statement was _killing him_. He was right; Derek hated how he smelled. His scent was so terrible that he literally needed him to leave the house.

His lip quivered, eyes welling up. He leant over to gather his jacket from the couch and retrieved the small package from its pocket. He thrust it into Derek’s chest and dug his nails in for good measure. “Welcome back, you fucking asshole.”

He turned and sauntered off towards the door, ignoring Scott and Allison’s pleas for him to stay. He shook them all off and softly told them that he’d pick up his empty dish later, tears rolling down his cheeks. With one last look towards the group that was still huddled in the den, he saw Derek cradling the package in his hands with a blank look on his face.

He slammed the door behind him without a second look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your support, comments, bookmarks, and kudos. They seriously mean the world to me! :)


	3. Air as Tense as it is Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3 coming at you live! i'm having so much fun writing this fic!
> 
> [Click Here for my "Story Request Form!"](https://forms.gle/PZv8BVJnMgPRJPqUA)
> 
> it's free and i'll write whatever you request!

Stiles didn’t cry at all after Derek had shut him out. Sure, he had maybe gone through three tissue boxes since he had left the house two days ago, but who else’s business was that but his? Maybe he was a little weepier than usual. No one was around to notice. In fact, if anyone asked, he didn’t care. In fact, he _really_ didn’t care. Derek who?

His phone started ringing, and he launched himself off his bed and to his desk where it was plugged in. One look at the caller ID had his heart sinking further. It was only Lydia.

All right, maybe he cared a _little._

“What, Lyds?”

“Are you done groveling?”

Stiles choked out a laugh, “Sure, Lyds. Totally. I’m _completely_ done wallowing in my own pain and suffering. Please, do tell, what ethereal God has bestowed your beauty and knowledge upon me so that I may bask in that glory that is Lydia Fu—.”

“Can you shut the-ever-living fuck up for one second and just listen to me?” She bit out.

Okay, Stiles was no stranger to Lydia Martin’s sarcasm and abruptness, but he didn’t have it in him to deal with it right now. Besides Scott, Lydia was the only one who knew about his feelings. Ever since the “I’m in love with Lydia Martin” debacle in high school, she had had his back. She especially had to make up for the one time when Stiles had gone to ask her to prom and found her practically buried in Cora Hale’s neck. So, yes, they were best friends. But this? Was not okay.

“You know what, Lyds? No. I don’t need this right now, okay?”

Once again, Lydia interrupted him. Shouldn’t he be used to this by now?

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Stiles thought Lydia had hung up. He wouldn’t have been surprised; he wasn’t the most fun to be around right now. “Stiles, please, just, listen to me. I promise it’s worth it.” The level of sincerity made him pause and sit on the edge of his bed.

For some reason, his voice seemed to come out softer than before, “What?”

Lydia sighed again before answering, “You need to open your window and not say a word.”

He looked around his room and sniffled, “Come again?”

“Get your sweatpants-covered ass up, walk to your window, and open it. I know you’ve probably shut yourself in for the last 48 hours, which means it probably smells like a troll died.”  
  
“God, that was _one time._ ”

Lydia instantly spoke over him again, “Seriously, just do it. And then don’t talk.”

“Don’t talk? Lydia, you’re acting like a psycho.” There was a muffled “Don’t call my girlfriend a psycho again, or I’ll rip your head off” in the background, and Stiles instantly realized he was on speaker. “Is this a prank? Am I being punk’d? Holy shit, am I gonna be on tv?” Stiles whipped his head around and to his dismay, found no cameras.

“Can you trust me? Please?” Stiles knew Lydia would never use her alpha tone unless absolutely necessary, and this wasn’t one of those times. But her voice was softer and more genuine than usual, so he knew she had probably been tempted.

He stood up, stretched his legs until his knees popped, and begrudgingly trekked over to his window. “You’re lucky it’s like a thousand bloody degrees in here,” he muttered before pushing his window up and looking out into the- pitch darkness, great. Just what he needed: a serial killer taking advantage of his sad state and killing him in the middle of the night. Wonderful.

“Okay, now just be Anti-Stiles and be patient.”

Maybe the guy would let him choose how he died?

“And quiet. Be quiet.”

Probably strangulation.

“And don’t say anything until asked.”

No, definitely by drowning.

“Stiles?” She echoed over the line.

Stiles groaned and stretched back on his bed, “Yeah, I’m here. Now, what’s happening again?”

There was another minute of silence before Stiles basically screamed into the phone again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, shut up. Is he there?” 

Stiles eyebrows furrowed as he played with his left thumb’s cuticle. “Is who here?” He looked up and around his room, “Lyds, what do you mean? Is who—?” His breath caught in his throat as he made eye contact with the figure sitting on his windowsill. A tall, burly man had his hands folded in between his knees. Even though he was slouched, his back was still a tense line of strain. He looked absolutely frustrated and not-at-all like the relaxed position he was in. To top it all off, the man was especially _broody._ “Derek?”

The phone fell from his hand, the call apparently ending. The quiet _thunk_ was the only thing that could be heard in the mountain of awkward silence that was this moment. Stiles’ skin prickled with a new sheen of sweat, and seriously, was the window even open? 

Rubbing his palms along his thighs, he met Derek’s eyes again. For a second, he swore that they had flashed a light red before returning to emerald. It sent a chill down Stiles’ body, that despite his self-control, pooled in his groin. He willed, _willed_ , himself to calm down.

“What… what are you doing here?” Stiles gritted out as he dug his fingers into his thighs and massaged a little harder. Seriously, why was he so tense?

Derek let out a puff of air before clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Shut up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said: shut up,” Derek repeated as he stared at the younger boy.

Stiles adjusted his posture and crossed his arms against his chest. “You know what? No. I will not shut up. You’re in _my_ fucking room after kicking _me_ out, and you expect _me_ to shut up? You can take that pleasant sentiment and shove it up your royally-tight a—.”

Stiles had never seen someone move so fast to catch a pillow and throw it back with a loud _slap._ The Alpha then made a move to glower at Stiles from his bedside. The change in distance had Stiles’ heart thumping against his chest and a new layer of sweat on his neck. His mouth went dry as he caught the smell of _mate, coffee, confusion_ and darted out his tongue to lick his lip. Derek’s eyes followed the movement before landing on Stiles’ neck.

“Shut up and let me _explain_.”

“If you know me at all, you know I can’t keep quiet,” he relented.

The corners of Derek’s mouth dipped before his whole body seemed to shudder. “Stiles,” the boy looked at the Alpha’s hands as they fiddled with each other, “ _please.”_

Stiles made a gesture that indicated him to continue.

Derek nodded and sat on the edge of his bed and went to reach for Stiles hand before retracting it. The movement had been so small that Stiles almost missed it. _Almost._

“All right, so,” he bit his tongue and before roughly grunting out, “I’m sorry for kicking you out.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Yeah, because you sound so sincere.”

Derek growled before making a fist and biting out, “Shut up. I don’t usually apologize.”

“Oh, does that mean I’m special?”

Stiles laughed and crossed his legs before hunching over and playing with his bed cover. The edges were a bit frayed, and he wasn’t surprised. He had owned them for close to seven years, and despite his dad’s multiple attempts to get him to buy new ones, he couldn’t seem to part with them. He had a lot of memories with them, okay? It wasn’t his fault that most of those memories had to do with tissues, lotion, and the occasional dildo.

“Yes,” Derek paused and trailed his eyes over to meet Stiles’ brown ones, “it does.”

Stiles gulped, and that arousal that was a barely existent tingle? Well, it was now a more distinct buzzing.

“I just need you to know that you’re important to the pack. I shouldn’t have kicked you out. It was wrong of me, and I was being an asshole. More so than usual.”

Oh. He was special because he was part of the _pack_. Got it. Not like that stabbed him in the heart or anything.

“Why were you being an asshole?” Stiles words echoed as Derek’s eyes met his once again.

Derek clenched his jaw before mumbling, “I remembered something I was trying to forget.” His eyes passed over Stiles’ lips before settling back on his own hands. “The thing I was trying to get away from for _five years._ ”

Stiles nodded to himself as his heart continued to beat quickly, “Which was what?” His breath came out as a whisper.

Derek’s gaze met Stiles again. Pure red.

“My mate.”

Stiles’ eyes flashed yellow in response.

“Your mate?”

“Yeah.”

“What about h… them?”

Derek responded, “When I found out who it was, I didn’t need or want one. Seriously, it was the last fucking thing I needed. So I left.” The tense line of his shoulders grew even tenser. Stiles’ sadness was palpable as Derek suddenly smelt salt. He finally let his fingers come to rest against the omega’s. “But then,” he paused and wiped a tear from the boy’s face, “then I came back. And I saw him again. And I was so conflicted that I kicked him out of my house.”

Stiles let out a small gasp of shock before tightening his grip on the Alpha’s fingers. His _long_ fingers. Okay, Stiles.

“Then I opened up the present he gave me,” the Alpha reached into his other pocket and held out a twine bracelet with a fox emblem, “and realized he had unintentionally marked me.” He gripped the bracelet tighter, “So my wolf went fucking crazy.”

Stiles gave himself a mental reminder to ask Erica what ‘crazy’ meant next time he was at the house.

“I needed to be near you,” he paused and ran a finger across the palm of Stiles’ hand, “so here I am.”

Stiles’ gaze was set on Derek’s mouth, and he desperately craved to reach out and set his own lips on them. They were so soft and wet, and God, he wanted to know what they felt like.

“So what do we do now?” Stiles whispered as his body swayed toward the Alpha’s.

Derek seemed to follow Stiles’ movement with his own body before pulling back and withdrawing his hand. “We’re going to continue to be pack. We’re going to be friends. And that’s it.”

“Yes, I’d love to—wait, what?” Stiles’ scent turned sour, and he whined low in his throat.

Derek groaned and went to reach for Stiles’ hand again before deciding against it. He seemed like he was fighting every damn instinct he had. Stiles fucking hated it and wanted to punch him.

“Stiles, I _can’t._ ”

Okay, what? He _can’t?_ Can’t be with Stiles? Can’t get over his own fucking issues to accept what’s right in front of him? What kind of excuse was that? Three words; three fucking words, Derek Hale. He chose to say three words, and they weren’t _the right ones_.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, but…”

Stiles was pissed. Beyond pissed. Sure he could deal with the overwhelming sexual tension in the room, because fuck, there was a _lot._ And yes, the sweat pooling at the base of his spine was excruciatingly disgusting because it was only sixty-three degrees, _even though_ he had his AC blasting. Sure, he was still pissed for getting kicked out of the pack house. 

But this?

_This?_

No, _this_ was not okay in any shape or form. There was not a single excuse Derek could come up with that Stiles would accept.

“No, fuck you,” Stiles balled his hands up in frustration before crooking a finger toward Derek. “You don’t get to come in here, acknowledging what _I figured out two days ago_ , and then dismiss it because of why? Scared of developing some real feelings, Mr. Lonewolf? Cry me a fucking river, Derek.” Hauling himself out of the bed and away from his apparently-not mate, the cord between them pulled taut. It was enough to stall Stiles before he continued on his rampage.

“You’ve been gone for five years. Five fucking years. The moment you come back, I realize you’re my mate. Then? Then you reject me; in front of our pack, Derek. _Our pack,_ you asshole. Then you come and apologize, which I graciously accepted, by the way. Just to reject our bond, and tell me you ‘can’t.’ So please, enlighten me.” Crossing his arms across his chest, the omega is physically pained. There is a pulsing in his chest that can’t be tamed with a few deep breaths. It’s frightening, actually, how wound up Derek has him. He’s never been this frustrated and pissed off all at once. That’s saying a lot. Especially because he’s had to deal with Jackson’s arrogance while going through pre-heat _every fucking year since he presented_. One would think he built up a tolerance by now. Apparently not.

The Alpha’s gaze was steady, contradicting the fact that a bit of fang poked out from behind his lips. “Don’t push it, Stiles.”

Oh, that was a fucking _challenge_.

Stiles dug his toes into the soles of his shoes before rolling up his sleeves. He was ready for fucking _battle_. He felt his eyes shift into omega gold before settling on the Alpha. They wouldn’t be changing back for a while; he just knew.

“Oh, I’m going to push, _Derek._ Tell me. Tell me, why not? Why the fuck aren’t you accepting _this?_ ” On the last word, Stiles stepped a few paces forward, his chest only a few inches away from Derek’s. If Derek was going to reject him, he was going to do it face-to-face, no holds-barred. Stiles was going to make the Alpha work for this rejection. He was never an easy child; his adult self was no different.

“Seriously, back away,” Derek’s voice shook a bit. Whether from his fangs that had now fully dropped or some hidden-away insecurity, Stiles was unsure. Either way, he wasn’t going to.

In fact, he shuffled a little bit closer, eyes boring into Derek’s. He was surprised he hadn’t shifted. Hell, his irises were a steady gold now, and he wasn’t even a _werewolf._ “No chance, try again.”

“Stiles, I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“Seriously, don’t.

“Too late.”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“Man up and fucking tell me, Derek.”

Rasping out through his fangs, Derek growled out, “I don’t want this. None of this. I don’t want a fucking mate, Stiles.”

Stiles shrank in on himself and took a step back, “Then why come here?”

Clenching his jaw and digging his nails into his thighs, the Alpha continued to grunt, “My wolf needed to be settled. Your gift fucking set that part of me on fire. It’s fine now.”

The worst part of not being a wolf? Stiles was often asked that exact question, and he was never really capable of coming up with an answer. Secretly, deep down inside, he had figured it out, though.

_I can’t tell when people are lying._

If Derek was lying, he wouldn’t know. He would never know. The wolf was impossible to read, unlike some of the other members of the pack. Isaac’s nose always twitched; Allison’s cheeks flared red; Scott’s voice got a bit higher; Jackson cursed more; Cora and Lydia both got quieter; Boyd’s left hand trembled; and Erica, well, Erica got more sexual. How was that even possible? Honestly, Stiles just chose to accept it all those years ago. There wasn’t any point in trying to figure it out.

But the Alpha? Mr. Hale? He didn’t have a fucking tell. Not that any human could see, anyway. Sure, his heart probably skipped a little bit, but Stiles was in the dark about it. Yeah, he had his Spark, but what did that matter when he didn’t have the senses that weres had?

“I call bullshit.”

“Stiles, I don’t want this.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“Fine,” Derek swallowed slowly and meeting Stiles’ gaze, whispered out the most gut-wrenching thing Stiles had ever heard. “I don’t want _you_.”

The string broke. Completely snapped. At least it felt like it did. Like the piece that Stiles was missing actually _disappeared._ Drawing in a harsh breath, lip quivering, he forced himself to hold eye contact with the older man. It was unbearably hard to do so, but everything in his core told him he had to. The eyes were still green; it broke him. Derek wasn’t even reacting to his gold. He really was rejecting him. They were mates, and he was rejecting him.

“Get out,” lip shaking as tears threatened to drip down his cheeks.

“Stiles, wait…”

“I said get the fuck out, Derek. Get out. Now,” he wiped his brow of sweat and his eyes of water before pointing toward the window. “Get the fuck out of my house. I don’t want you either. Leave.”

“Fuck, Stiles, I didn’t…”

Derek was shoved. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my room! I don’t need you. Get out, get out, _get out_.”

Stiles knew he was lying, but as he watched the Alpha leave, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

~

There was no wallowing away in his room this time. There were a few tissues, and one good cry session, but it was nothing. He wasn’t going to be this terribly devastated omega whose mate had dismissed them. No. Stiles was ready to get done-up, sway his ass for attention, and get a dick in his ass.

Dramatic? Yes.

Necessary? Yes.

Horny? Absolutely the fuck yes.

The fight with Derek had set a fire in Stiles. One would think that Derek’s bond rejection would tear Stiles’ soul apart. And they’d be right. Because it did.

_However._

Stiles wasn’t going to spend another minute thinking of Derek and his beautiful eyes, incredible body, toned thighs, wonderful ass, that cock that must be _so thick and hard and…_

Right, he needed to get laid. Like yesterday. Because every little thing was turning him on. Seeing beta boys at the store shopping for fruit? Caused his cock to harden. A picture that had the slightest hint of an alpha’s happy trail? Made slick drip down between his cheeks. He was a damn kettle ready to over-boil. He never realized that the separation of a mate bond would turn an omega so goddamn horny. Well, Stiles be damned.

Which explained why he was currently putting on some light nude eyeshadow, a black button-down shirt, and dark blue jeans. The omega had been asked on a date. By an adorable alpha at their local coffee shop. The way the man’s eyes had lit up when they went to reach for the same drink was enough to send a shiver of want down his spine. After a conversation comprised of blushing and thinly-veiled innuendos, Stiles had agreed to a date at a casual-fancy restaurant located downtown.

Had it been only three days since Derek was in his room? Yes. But was he ready to move on? Sure. Going on a date with an alpha also meant the possibility of a knot locked in him by the end of the night. Something Derek couldn’t provide him due to being a beta. Win-win.

Lost the love of his life but gained a thick knot. Just a day in the life of Stiles Stilinski.

So here he was, spritzing some cologne on the inside of his wrists and trying to cover his acrid smell. The omega never thought he smelled bad, but seeing as how his pack _and_ the cashier at his favorite diner called out the apparently-weird fumes coming from his body, picked up his favorite _Neutralize and Sensitize._ Not only did it cancel out his natural scent, it gave him the delicious fragrance of _Hibiscus Sunset._ If anyone asked him what the fuck _Hibiscus Sunset_ was, though? He wouldn’t know what to say. All he knew is that it smelled like _heaven._

Enough to bring him out of the hell that was his situation with Derek.

A little bit of chapstick on his lips, and he was ready. Just in time for his phone to buzz with a text that told him his date was here. Usually, he would drive himself to a date so that there was no presumption of him spending the night, but tonight? Tonight he was going to get _fucked_.

So, yeah, his date could pick him up.

~

The ride over to the restaurant had been quick, and thank god, because while the alpha was cute, he didn’t smell quite right. He smelled fucking wonderful, yes, but not _right._ Ignoring this fact in favor of a good dicking, he simply rolled the window down a bit, claiming it was because he was hot. Granted, the omega was getting increasingly sweatier every minute. Nerves. He hadn’t been on a date in a while, so nerves.

As soon as the alpha pulled out his chair for him, he settled a bit, knowing even if his scent disagreed with Stiles’ nose, at least he was a gentleman. He even asked what Stiles wanted to drink instead of ordering for him. Which was extremely kind. Offered to split an appetizer and recommended a dish he had never heard of just because he once mentioned in a text that he loved cheeseburgers. For all intents and purposes, this alpha was exactly what Stiles needed: sweet, responsive, adorable, and with knot.

So why in the fuck was he so pissed? Every sweet gesture put Stiles’ teeth on edge, threatening to omega-out. He didn’t want fucking appeasement, right now. He wanted aggression; he wanted the alpha to tell him what to eat. To tell him what to drink, to take control. This was never what Stiles wanted, which is why he was so confused.

The omega thrust it to the back of his mind and heard the alpha ask a question.

“Hm?” He took a sip of water to try and get his lips to moisten. Chapstick was always a part of his makeup routine, so chapped lips were not a part of his repertoire.

The Alpha chuckled, and it both sent a chill down his spine and made his heart quicken, “I asked, what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, I write. Crime-thrillers. Started in college, never really stopped.”

“Well, that’s impressive. Maybe I’ve heard of your work? Any titles I might know?”

“Depths of the Dark, maybe? It’s my most well-known one.”

The alpha snapped before pointing at the omega, “That’s the one with the detective who sets out to find his sister and ends up dismantling a prostitution ring, right? That’s why you look so familiar. Your picture is on the back jacket of the cover.”

It’s safe to say that Stiles was absolutely shocked. His fiction wasn’t usually for alpha tastes. He was known for making all his main characters omegas because he wanted to highlight the fact that modern-omegas don’t all subscribe to the stereotype of homemakers. He knew the alpha wasn’t playing either, especially because he knew the plotline and the surprise twist. Granted, he could’ve looked it up before the date, but seeing as how he used his maiden name when writing and had never told the alpha his last name, it was seriously unlikely.

“Yeah, that’s, that’s me,” his lips quirked up in a smile before dazedly looking at the alpha’s eyes. He _was_ gorgeous; maybe he could overlook the scent just for tonight.

“I love your books. Working on a new one, I hope?” The man sipped at his water, and Stiles had to start using his name because with the attention he was paying to his job, he deserved it.

“In the middle of it. Having trouble coming up with a good enough plotline though, you know? Inspiration is always hard to come by when your reserves run dry,” he pat his neck with his napkin before gazing at the candle in between them. He had the urge to put it out.

The alpha, _Dylan,_ nodded before sniffing the air and scrunching his eyebrows. He seemed to shake it off, and for a second, Stiles wondered if his neutralizer stopped working. Subtly scenting his wrists, he came to a conclusion that it had, but only a little. Not a big deal, as long as he stopped sweating.

“I get that. Being a physics professor, I always have to think of new research topics. It’s so taxing, sometimes.” Dylan shook his head and sipped his water, loosening his collar with his right index finger and coughing into his arm.

“That must be a doozy. I never could,” Stiles blinked away a bead of sweat that dropped in his eye, “get into physics. Sorry, is it hot in here?” The omega’s eyes lingered over to where the vents were and noticed that the plants in the restaurant had a faint sway, so they must be on.

“Not particularly, no. But maybe a bit stuffy?” Dylan looked a little fazed and drank more of the wine that the server just happened to bring over. Said server also visibly stiffened before walking away, murmuring to himself.

The omega, sipping at his beer, tried to settle back in his own skin. The scent radiating off of the alpha was grueling on his senses. Now he wasn’t so sure he could hold out for the knot he so dearly wanted. It was hard to keep himself from launching himself away from the table.

“So Stiles, you’re twenty-three and single. What exactly are you looking for?” The alpha took a larger gulp of his wine, which Stiles would be offended by if he wasn’t doing the same thing with his own beer.

“Oh, uhm, a relationship? Yeah, a relationship.” That part was true. He did want a relationship. He was ready for one; he had spent enough of his time alone and had participated in enough one night stands (three, to be exact) to know that he definitely wanted something more important in his life.

Well, someone.

_Particularly, someone that was especially broody and had dark hair._

“That’s good to hear. I’m definitely ready to settle down, too. I saw you, and despite being adorable as hell, you seemed like you’d be pretty genuine. I’ve gone on enough blind dates to know what I don’t want.”

The omega preened and found himself swaying towards the alpha before recoiling back. Why the fuck was he being so hot and cold? Literally. One second, he wanted to jump the man, and the next he wanted to bare his teeth and send him away. It was maddening.

“Thank you, it means a lot. You’re really handsome,” he bit out and felt his mind dull at the corners. It was a pleasant warmth, one that started at the back of his head before swirling forward.

“You know you’re beautiful, right?” The alpha’s tongue basically lolled out of his mouth, and Stiles was hit with a scent that smelled _compatible, mesmerizing, fertile_. It was everything he needed and wanted. Maybe he was right to go on this date. His body knew what was right for him; what he craved. This alpha was gentle and sweet and smelled _so fucking good._

Dylan murmured out another few compliments as his own eyes glazed over, tinting light purple. Stiles was ready to jump over the table and have this alpha mount him. Something in the back of his mind stalled him, though. The scent of the alpha seemed to permeate everything around him, but it didn’t seem to come from the alpha himself. It was odd. That much he knew.

“Thank you, Dylan,” Stiles preened as he got another whiff of that scent. Before he knew it, a trail of slick dripped down into his briefs, and he stiffened in his chair. It took a moment before he realized that it wasn’t just a drop. His slick was _pooling_ in his briefs, and he hoped to god it hadn’t leaked through his jeans.

Dylan, being the wonderful alpha that he was, scented the air again before setting his eyes on Stiles. Eyes hungry, Stiles knew that the alpha was going to start posturing soon. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that Stiles was really fucking turned on. He needed a knot in him, like now. He was willing to skip the incredible dinner they had ordered and just skip to a cock locked deep in his ass. Sounded like dessert, actually.

The alpha smiled something short of perfect before placing out his hand, palm up. It was a breathtaking gesture that had Stiles reaching out to connect with him. Before he could, however, a growl sounded out over the idle chatter around the restaurant and made Stiles pause.

The scent of _perfect, wonderful, mate_ drifted into his nostrils and had him keening away from his chair.

“Derek,” Stiles whimpered as he saw the Alpha come into view and stomp over to their table. He looked positively rattled and thoroughly pissed.

“Scott told me you were on a date with an _alpha,_ and despite the fact that you kicked me out of your room, I couldn’t bear the fact that you were here, with _him_ , and I snapped. I—,” he paused and scented the air, eyes immediately going red. “Stiles, you…”

“I’m on a date, Derek,” his mouth went dry as he smacked his lips together, staring hard at the alpha sitting across from him. With Derek here, he wanted Dylan gone. So fucking far away.

“Stiles, listen, you’re—.”

“No, you listen, Mr. Adorable Alpha,” the omega stood up and stumbled over to the Alpha, trying his best to remain on two legs. He swore he hadn’t had that much to drink; he _knew_ he wasn’t drunk. So why was Derek coming in and out of focus? “I am on a date,” he slurred as he thrust a finger into the Alpha’s chest, “with Dillll-en. Who wants a relationship with mwah. He’s kind and recommended _gourmet meat_. Can you offer that, Sourwolf? Can you offer _gourmet meat?_ ”

The Alpha’s eyes were still lit up, all while trying to breath steadily through his mouth. Stiles noticed that Derek’s eyes are focused on his lips, unable to look away. He wanted to lick into the Alpha’s mouth but first he needed the Alpha to know he didn’t need him.

“So, please, Oh Alpha of Mine,” prodding harder into his chest as another glob of slick left his hole, “leave.”

Derek chose this moment to grip the omega’s wrist tightly in his hand. The point of contact made Stiles go weaker in the knees. In what seemed like forever but was only a second, his back was drenched in sweat, boxers were dripping in slick, and he needed Derek to mount him. It was an incredible need, one that made him bear his neck and look at the Alpha with unrestrained _fuck me_ eyes.

“ _Stiles,_ ” the Alpha panted and set his other palm on Stiles’ waist, drawing him in closer.

“What? You, you dick?” The bitter remark barely has any kick to it, especially with Stiles slurring it out with what can only be described as half-assed conviction.

“You’re in heat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **In this 'verse:**
> 
> **As you know, gender presentation is different than pack hierarchy. So along with this, comes eye color. With pack, Alphas have red eyes and all other pack members have their normal-colored eyes. They show submission through body movements instead.**
> 
> **With gender, omegas have gold eyes, betas have light blue eyes, and alphas have purple eyes. So depending on your combination you could have up to three colored eyes (normal, gender, hierarchy).**
> 
> _So given this..._  
>  What presentation do you think Derek is: alpha, beta, or omega?
> 
> _Let me know in the comments!_
> 
> And make sure to request your own story in the link in the beginning chapter notes!
> 
> Love you all. :)


	4. A Ripped Blanket is Still Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter!!!
> 
> in this one we get a little backstory of the days leading up to when Derek left. 
> 
> hopefully you all enjoy!

_5 years prior…_

Stiles was incredibly stoked to turn eighteen. He could now—legally—call himself an adult. _Despite_ what his father said about his so-called ‘adulthood.’ By the law of the land, he would legally be able to do whatever the fuck he pleased.

So, yeah, he was happy.

He was going to spend it with his friends, well, the pack—but those were one in the same—and they were going to go out to the only 18+ club within a thirty-mile span of Beacon Hills. Was said club a gay club? 

Oh, absolutely.

Stiles was under the impression that he was going to meet some go-go dancers.

Hell, he’d probably get up on stage and dance with him.

He was going to be _eighteen_ , so yeah, taking advantage.

Two days away, just two more days.

For the time being, however, Stiles was at Derek’s front door. Well, the front door of his loft. The seventeen-year-old had informed the Alpha that there was a rogue ghoul/centaur/monkey/whatever-the-fuck-other-creature-had-wings, and the older man had gruffly said, in no uncertain terms, to _‘Get the fuck over here.’_

So, yeah, that’s where Stiles currently was, knocking his fist on the door with his other hand gripping the Beastiary. To no surprise, the door opened before he could even land contact, and then there was Derek. In all his Derek-ness.

Which was, to put it bluntly, full of stubble and grumpiness and perfection.

Yes, Stiles had a crush, and yes, Scott knew about it. It was plain-as-day, and honestly, surprising that no one else had caught on yet.

On second thought, they probably had. Would explain a lot.

Derek opened the door and upon seeing Stiles, turned around and walked back into the loft.

“Hey to you, too,” Stiles remarked sarcastically, “my day has been great. Thanks for asking!” He bit out as he shut the door once he stepped inside.

Like always, the loft was remarkably put together and smelt like pine and lemon. It was a great scent, actually. Both refreshing and delicate; Stiles found himself looking forward to it every time Derek called him over.

Not like the real reason he liked going over was because he got to see the Alpha.

_Nope._

“D’you want coffee?” The Alpha asked as he padded over to the kitchen, grabbing two coffee cups from the cupboard beside the fridge. It was a rhetorical question, because like always, Stiles responded to the prospect of coffee with a resounding _yes._

Stiles, in turn, walked over to the couch and set the book and his bag down, crossing his legs beneath him as he sat in the corner-most seat of the sectional. It was his ritual spot; anybody who dared tried to sit there during pack meetings would usually get a wet-willy.

Stiles never said he was _mature._

The Alpha set the mug in Stiles’ open palms before carefully relaxing into the seat in the opposite corner of the sectional. 

It was piping hot and smelt so fucking incredible. With one sip, Stiles knew that Derek had made it perfectly—black without anything added. He groaned low in his throat before taking a much larger sip.

Derek flinched as he took a sip of his own mug, and Stiles felt bad because the Alpha probably made his way too hot.

“If you blow on it a bit, it should cool down,” he said as he rested the mug on his knee, taking in the Alpha’s confused expression.

“What?” Shaking his head, Derek put the coffee on the side table before staring back at Stiles. “So what are we dealing with here?”

“Some purple goo thing? I dunno,” Stiles said as he shrugged. “Scott said he heard about wings, I heard something about a monkey, and Lydia just thinks it’s a pissed-off shapeshifter.”

In lieu of everything going on his head, Stiles knew that the focus of his attention had to be centered on Beacon Hills’ newest resident monster. Yes, he had been planning his festivities, but that had to wait until this weird fucking thing got the hell out—or was killed by a certain Grumpy Alpha—of their town.

Swirling his finger around the mug, he longingly gazed at the steam. Wondering how something as simple as coffee could bring him such joy. It was something, that even on his darkest or saddest days, would make him feel better.

Especially when brewed by the hottest man he’d ever seen.

On second thought, not too surprising.

Stiles looked back up at said Alpha and was surprised to see him blinking away something in his eyes.

“Well, hopefully we can figure it out sooner or later. I hear you guys have plans for this week,” Derek stated as his drew the mug back to his lips.

“Wait, you know about my birthday?” Stiles stated, not realizing that his mouth was agape.

Derek shook his head, muttering so low that it was a surprise Stiles had heard him, “Couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

“Well I’m _sorry_ if my birthday plans interfere with your whole ‘ _don’t enjoy anything in this world except for the fear I bestow in children thing’_ going on,” Stiles retorted as he gestured to Derek’s entire being.

Derek gave him this look that read “What the fuck are you on again?” before shaking his head and taking another sip of his coffee.

“But we’re going to a gay bar, and I will most definitely be dancing on some overly-enthusiastic go-go dancers.”

Derek fucking choked on his coffee and sent red daggers towards Stiles.

“Like you need that.”

“Once again, we can’t all be emotionless zombie-wolves.”

Derek quirked his eyebrows up, those glorious eyebrows, and set his mug back on the table.

“Not emotionless, Stiles. Stilted, but not emotionless.”

“Oh. My. God,” punctuated with incredibly enthusiastic hand gestures. “Did Derek Hale just make a _joke?_ ”

“It’s a yearly occurrence. Glad you could be here for it,” he said.

“Another one? Oh man, you’re on a roll today, Sourwolf.”

At his nickname, Derek grunted, draping his arm over the couch’s back. “Hate that name.”

“Well, change your face, and we’ll talk.”

“Can’t change what I was born with, Stiles.”

Stiles laughed before pointing, “Sure you haven’t gotten surgery? Something to make your eyebrows especially _expressive?_ ”

Derek trailed his finger along the couch’s material before responding, “No, Stiles. No bodily-related enhancements.”

“So, you don’t actually take scent blockers?”

The words are out before Stiles can stop them. And fuck, he wished he had stopped them.

Everyone in their pack knew Derek didn’t have a scent, or was blocking it, at least. They had taken bets on it, for fucks sake. But no one ever asked. Because that was a _rude_ thing to do. It wasn’t taboo, no, but it _was_ inappropriate.

People were allowed to hide their scents for a multitude of reasons. Whether it was to keep an unwanted partner at bay, or just to appease their sense of self, anyone had the right to block their scents if they so chose.

The drugs that achieved it weren’t even that harmful. It was like a daily vitamin; once a day, usually in the morning, people popped their scent blocker, and then they went about their day. Granted, the feeling of not having a scent could be paired with a cologne or perfume so they smelt like _something_ but it wasn’t really necessary.

Derek, just smelled like Derek. The scent of pine and lemon of his apartment translated to the Alpha, and Stiles was the first one in line to admit that he smelled _amazing_. But he knew it wasn’t his natural presentation scent.

Rumor was the last time he wasn’t on scent blockers was when he was with Kate. Well, not so much as rumor as something else that wasn’t explicitly talked about.

Not a particularly a fun history lesson to teach the pack, either.

So Stiles never thought asking that question was going to be a reality.

Especially not asking Derek _directly_.

“Excuse me?”

Stiles sputtered as his part began pounding in his chest. “Fuck, I didn’t mean… Sorry. I’ll leave,” he apologized before moving to get up.

A hand stopped him, suspiciously warm and devoid of claws.

“Stiles, it’s okay.”

“It’s none of my business, I’m sorry. Please forget I brought it up.”

Derek took a deep breath as he gripped the man’s shoulder.

“I do.”

“You—what?”

Stiles would swear up and down that this was the moment he fell in love with Derek. Because Derek honest-to-god shook and appeared to shrink in on himself. It tore up Stiles’ heart. He never meant to put this much pressure on the man; hell, he never even meant to ask the question.

But seeing Derek’s downturned eyebrows and the soft look on his face made Stiles’ heart drop into his stomach.

“I do take blockers. They just… make everything simpler. I don’t have to worry about,” he whispered as he looked forlornly into Stiles’ eyes, “people trying to take advantage.”

Heart beating wilder in his chest, he realized that this, _this,_ was the discussion they were about to have. “So, Kate.”

Derek nodded, hand still on Stiles’ shoulder. It would be a lie to say that the constant contact hadn’t been sending chills up Stiles’ spine.

“After her, I couldn’t let anyone in. So I disguised myself. And I will until, well, until I decide I don’t want to anymore.”

“Usually I wouldn’t ask, but, since we’re already talking about…”

“Just ask, Stiles.”

Stiles gulped, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. “What about when you find your mate? I feel like that would be as good a time as ever.”

Derek’s hand went tense on Stiles’ shoulder, and the teen had to stop the whine that was threatening to make an appearance as he withdrew it. Said shoulder went cold, and Stiles wanted to say _stop, no, please touch me again._

“It won’t matter. I’m not going to let h-them in. They deserve someone less damaged.”

Stiles yearned to just shake Derek’s shoulders and scream at him _you’re so deserving of love, stop being such a self-sacrificing idiot._

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. They’ll care about you no matter your presentation. Plus, you won’t be able to hide from them, you know. Just because you’re covering up what’s in your pants doesn’t mean they won’t be able to tell the instant they meet you. Not to mention your paired scent.”

“I guarantee that won’t be a problem, either.”

“Derek, for once, just let yourself have something. No one’s going to get hurt if you finally just let yourself be with someone you want to be with.”

“I highly doubt that,” Derek whispered as he met Stiles’ eyes, this time with something akin to longing.

“Well, we deal with monsters on a daily basis, so it can’t be worse than that.”

Derek fucking glared at Stiles, “You _do_ know my past, right?”

Waving his hand in the air, Stiles brushed away any lingering negatively, “Eh, yeah, yeah. Key word: _past_. Besides, you have better things to look forward to.”

“Which would be?”

Stiles thrust his hands up and did this little wiggle that could only be described as uncoordinated and completely childish.

“My birthday! You’re coming right?”

“I’d rather stick a fork coated in wolfsbane—”

“C’mon Sourwolf.”

“—in my eye—"

“But there’ll be _go-go dancers_.”

“—and twist it.”

“Hell, maybe I’ll even get up on stage. Those shorts they wear look like fun.”

From that point on, Stiles would question why Derek decided to shove his face into a pillow.

~

Stiles had awoken to pancakes and the most amazing bacon his nose had ever had the pleasure of smelling.

Which was odd, mostly because his dad never cooked pancakes, wasn’t allowed to eat bacon, and oh—this wasn’t his couch.

Blinking open his eyes, which were stilled partly-closed because of the blinding sun entering through the window, Stiles realized that he had fallen asleep on Derek’s couch last night. And drooled, _all over his pillow._

Not only would the Alpha wolf be upset with him that he had fallen asleep while talking about pack things, but he ruined one of his pillows. Fantastic. Just what Stiles needed at—he peeked over at the clock on the wall—nine o’ clock in the morning: _a violent mauling._

“You up?” Derek voiced from the kitchen, no doubt flipping sugary goodness in a pan.

“Mmph,” Stiles groaned as he shoved his face deeper into the pillow and tugged the blanket more securely around him.

Wait, _blanket?_

_When did he get a blanket?_

“C’mon, get your ass up. It may be a Sunday, but you have work to do.” Derek said as a pan slammed onto the counter and a muffled _fuck_ followed.

Stiles huffed and lifted his face, peering over at the couch with an inquisitive eyebrow cocked up. Out of all the sights Stiles could’ve possibly predicted would be in his presence at some point—Derek, with an apron on and flour in his hair, which stuck up in four different places, by the way—was not one of them.

Stiles looked like a love-struck fool as he admired how the Alpha ran his hands under cool water.

“Burn yourself, Chef?”

“Shut the fuck up, Stiles. I did this for _you_ ,” Derek gritted out behind clenched teeth as he dumped the bacon onto a plate.

Stiles took a few more moments to compose himself, and his painfully-hard dick that didn’t take the hint that he wasn’t in his own room with his normal lotion, before getting up and wandering over to the island.

Propping both elbows on the table, Stiles was pleasantly surprised to find that Derek had actually made a _spread_. A gorgeous spread, really, with pancakes, bacon, different syrups, berries, and juices. As in _multiple juices!_

Oh, and not to forget…

“Where’s the—?”

A coffee cup was thrusted into his hands, once again made perfectly. Hey, not Stiles’ fault that everyone always assumed he liked his coffee especially sweet. Honestly, it was never his thing. Derek on the other hand…

“How can you drink that?” Stiles shivered as he peered over at the concoction Derek had made in his own cup. It was revolting, actually, made with all the sugar in the world and enough creamer to sink a small ship.

“What? It’s good,” Derek sounded offended as he glanced at Stiles before taking a sip.

“Literally could get diabetes from that, SugarWolf,” he pointed out and slotted himself onto the middle seat. Ignoring the groan from the older man, he made grabby hands toward the plate that looked the most perfect.

Derek, noticing this, slid it over to him. Within seconds, Stiles was scarfing it down like he had never been fed. Anyone looking in on their little world would probably suggest that it was the most horrific and disgusting thing they had seen. And they’d be right, mostly.

When Stiles was between his second and third piece of bacon, and just about done with his second pancake, he glanced up to find Derek staring at him. With wide eyes, a small smile on his face, and pink cheeks.

“Like what you see, Hale?” He grunted out as he took a gulp of orange juice like his life depended on it.

Derek’s ears went pink as he grabbed a strip of bacon and munched on it. Taking a swig of water before responding, “I just didn’t know you were a garbage disposal.”

“I could probably out-eat most of your ‘wolves, you know.”

“Oh,” Derek’s mouth quirked up as he said, “I can tell.”

God, he was gorgeous. Unequivocally gorgeous. If someone approached Stiles right now and said _“I will give you ten million dollars to point out someone who’s better looking than Derek Hale,”_ he would say _no_.

Because it was literally impossible. Especially when Derek grinned that stupid grin with his pink lips and bunny teeth and that tongue that poked out occasionally to wet said pink lips.

Fuck, _not_ the time to get hard.

As Stiles dug into his third pancake, he missed the way Derek sniffed the air and shivered.

~

A few hours later, Derek was watching Stiles pack up, albeit fucking slowly. Look. Stiles owned _a lot_ of shit and brought it over whenever he had to do research. So sue him for bringing it over to Derek’s. His brain was a necessary item, okay? So was his four pencils, eight pens, three journals, and small laptop.

Plus, after the conversation they had last night, they didn’t do much researching. Neither of them wanted to after the difficult things they discussed. It had quickly devolved into a movie marathon accompanied with popcorn and candy.

Derek had put his foot down after the third marvel movie, and Stiles reluctantly agreed to watch the Terminator. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it, but he knew the wolf especially loved how straight-up badass Arnold’s character was. 

C’mon, Derek looking up at a homicidal cyborg as a hero? Not that difficult of a puzzle to figure out.

Said movie night had once again devolved when they began talking about the pack’s dynamics and how they’d go forward since everyone was coupling up. It wasn’t a big deal, per se, but sooner or later, people would be getting Mated and married and having kids, and well— _that_ was a big deal.

Stiles knew the wolf would never admit it, but he knew that the prospect of expanding the pack with kids was something he probably looked forward to. It had been a long time since the fire, the pack house was getting rebuilt—slowly—and people were finally feeling a little more secure.

Having Mated Betas in the pack would just strengthen their ranks even more so. Which is why when the conversation strayed toward the human Beta getting Mated, Stiles was surprised that Derek was a little more than tense.

“So, Erica and Boyd, Scott and Allison because duh, Cora will probably bring Lydia in, and Jackson and Isaac…” Stiles trailed off and when he met Derek’s eyes, they both gagged. “Yeah, nevermind, that’s just—no.”

“Thanks for burning that image into my head, Stiles.”

“If I have to live with it, so do you.”

Derek nodded toward the screen, eyes following the explosion that happened seconds ago. A tiny smile lit up his face. 

The man’s jawline could cut fucking glass, too. Stiles wondered what that jawline would look like as it rubbed against his chest, leaving stubble burn in its wake.

The full body shudder that accompanied that thought was all-too-familiar.

Derek’s nostrils flared, said jaw clenching even tighter.

Stiles wanted to ignore how fucking angelic and incredible that the guy looked, but he couldn’t. He didn’t even recognize when the wolf had asked him a question until he had reiterated it two more times.

“Hm?” Stiles said, eyes blinking owlishly.

“What about you? Are you planning on,” Derek swallowed, “adding anyone?”

“Well, being a seventeen-year-old who hasn’t presented yet kinda puts a damper on that.” Stiles voiced as he grabbed for more popcorn.

Truth be told, he had thought about it a lot. How the day he turned eighteen would permanently decide how he lived his life for the foreseeable future. Granted, no presentation limited someone to what they could and couldn’t do, but it did put a certain type of restraint on who he could possibly be with.

His father had taught him that he could be with whoever he wanted, and any presentation his Mate ended up having wouldn’t matter because they were basically created to be together, but Stiles just couldn’t _help himself_.

He wanted to know, desperately, what he was. Not because he had a preference, no, but because he kind of had a bet with himself. One he legit couldn’t lose.

Literally, it was a 2 to 1 chance he’d end up a beta. And betas could be paired with _anybody._ A minor victory in Stiles’ playbook, but a victory nonetheless.

Stiles was already a struggling bisexual, he didn’t need to have dating struggles, too.

“Well, you’re not seventeen for much longer,” Derek said as he tugged the blanket over his lap.

“I guess that’s true,” he thought as he chewed on an especially-tricky kernel, “but can I even Mate into the pack?”

Derek looked offended, his fingers playing with a frayed thread. “Of course you can. Don’t you want to?”

“I mean, yeah, of course I want to. But…” Stiles trailed off as he stopped himself.

“But what?”

“What if my mate doesn’t want to?”

Derek twisted his hands in the blanket, quick enough that Stiles heard a devastating _rip._

“I’m sure h-they’ll want to. Trust me. It’s about a matter of if you end up wanting them.” He grunted out as he blinked once, twice.

“Oh, well in that case, I can’t wait for everyone to meet my hypothetical sex-on-legs mate.”

The blanket was a fucking _goner_.

~

The impromptu afternoon pack meeting was a blur.

A terrible, horrible blur.

All Stiles remembered was confused faces, unshed tears, Derek’s muffled _goodbye_ as he shut the door behind himself, and the sound of the Camaro pulling away from the driveway.

It had been a shock to everyone, especially the human. Their conversation had been so perfect last night and that morning. Stiles finally understood the man, or at least saw a glimpse of his life. He witnessed the Alpha laugh and smile and enjoy the simple things. It was beautiful and a perfect way to celebrate his birthday without anything attached.

And then the man just fucking _left._

Called an emergency pack meeting, explained his reasons, scented everyone, and _left._

Stiles was a fucking mess. Snot dripping down from his nose, unrestrained crying, and pure unfiltered _mess_. 

Scott was an amazing best friend and consoled him through it. The scruffy-haired boy had never understood Stiles’ affections for the older man, but he had never judged. Except for the time that everyone thought Derek was a serial killer, but even then. Even then he just simply stood there and rubbed his friend’s back, knowing that pining after a serial killer couldn’t be all that fun.

The way that Derek hadn’t even acknowledged Stiles, like there was this huge disconnect—it broke his fucking heart. Shattered beyond belief, into a million pieces, never to be recovered.

Derek wouldn’t even _look_ at him, not directly, any way. And when the wolf _did_ look in his general vicinity, his nose scrunched up in displeasure and this displeased look crossed his face.

Stiles fucking repulsed Derek, and he hadn’t even known what he did.

And now he was gone.

~

The next morning, when Stiles felt slick flowing from his hole and dampening his boxers, he knew it was just the beginning.

The beginning of something absolutely awful.

~

Stiles was burning up from the inside. Every breath he took—every hint of cool air on his skin—burned so brightly that his insides were twisting in pain.

But when Derek muttered out those words, those three words that Stiles never thought he would hear.

_“You’re in heat.”_

It felt like a bucket of ice water doused him, sobering him up.

Stiles was absolutely, undoubtedly, _fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna hear your feedback! Tell me what you like, what you think will happen!
> 
> This 'fic was originally going to be 4 chapters + epilogue, but I love writing is so much that I'm going to make it longer.
> 
> So I want to hear what you would love to see! I have a few things planned, but you never know.
> 
> **As always, I love all your comments, kudos, and bookmarks.**
> 
> **Love all of you! xx**


	5. Blissful ignorance is a dished best served with wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles continues his internal debate on how he feels about Derek, and comes to the conclusion that maybe he's _not_ the biggest asshole around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a few weeks, but I **promise** that I'm still happily working on this 'fic! (and the rest of them, too)
> 
> school was just a bit hectic, but now that I'm done with finals, I can happily work on all my WIPs and planned fics! yay!
> 
> so here's some 5000ish words!
> 
> trigger warning: Stiles has a *mild* panic attack.

Stiles doesn’t remember passing out, but apparently he had. Because he was now staring at Deaton’s beautiful face as he flashed a penlight into Stiles’ eyes.

The druid was monitoring him with a pensive look on his face, nose twitching as Stiles blinked up at him.

“Welcome back, Stiles,” he said as he put the penlight back into his pocket, picking up some forms from the cart next to him.

“What…” Stiles trailed off as he blinked away the fogginess from his eyes, looking around at his surroundings. It seemed to be only Deaton and him in the room, but he smelled freshly-brewed coffee wafting from somewhere nearby.

So Derek was here, too.

 _Fantastic_.

“What’s going on?” The omega asked softly, confusion lacing his words as his hands folded in his lap.

Deaton walked over to his desk chair before sitting down and rolling back over. Stiles didn’t like the look on him. The druid looked a bit ruffled, but still composed enough to not completely freak him out.

While Deaton happened to be their pack’s druid and resident knower-of-all-things strange and magic-related, he was also the pack doctor. He made sure everyone in the pack was always taking care of themselves and had their medicine up-to-date. Honestly, the man was a miracle worker. He also tried to make things less awkward than necessary.

Key word: tried.

Deaton sighed before taking a folder into his hand and rubbing the crease of his brow with the other. He glanced up at Stiles and took a small inhale before saying, “What do you remember before you woke up here?”

“I was at dinn—oh my god, _Dylan_. He doesn’t think I just left him, right? Fuck, where’s my phone?”

“Stiles. Stop. He’s in the waiting room,” the man said as he tilted his head toward the door. “He refused to leave until he heard you were all right. Persistent young man.”

Stiles nodded softly, a small smile lighting up his face. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t a little happy that the alpha stayed. It was a great date before he went and passed out. Honestly he couldn’t really ask for anything more from someone who was interested in him. It was really sweet, actually. Stiles admired that about the alpha. He seemed like he genuinely cared. Enough to stay even when he didn’t know what the fuck was going on. And that was the worst thing for an alpha. To not be in control.

But the alpha… he stayed. He was in the waiting room, probably out of his mind. So why couldn’t Stiles stop thinking about…

“And Derek?” The omega asked, tone low and sheepish.

Deaton’s mouth quirked up in the corner, apparently smug and a little knowing.

“Derek’s here, too. Safe to say having two men pine over the same omega that’s currently in my office is definitely a first, though.” The man trailed off before looking back at his notes. “So what else do you remember?”

“Well, dinner with Dylan, and then it got really hot. Derek showed up, I think? And then I woke up here,” he counted off each moment on his fingers before staring hard at Deaton. “ _Why_ am I here?”

Deaton sighed in a more frustrated manner—how that was even _possible_ at this point was a mystery—before gathering himself and speaking, “Well, Stiles, you’re in pre-heat.”

“Excuse me, _what?”_

“Pre-heat, Stiles. You’re in pre-heat.”

Okay, _no._ Not possible. No fucking way. This was not happening right now. He was not due for his heat for another few months. Hell, he was on a combination suppressant/birth control. Not only did it stop him from uncontrollably writhing on his sheets every month, but in the case he did, he wouldn’t get pregnant. There was honestly no possible way he could be in pre-heat right now.

“Very funny, Deaton. You got me there. Did Lydia put you up to this? That fucking she-demon.” He muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

Deaton shook his head and flipped through the pages of Stiles’ file. “Ms. Martin did _not_ put me up to this Stiles. For all intents and purposes, you shouldn’t be due until October. But alas, here we are. Is there anything that might’ve triggered it? Did you forget to take your pills?”

Stiles was quick to shake his head and come to his own defense. “No! I never skip a pill, and there’s no other stressors in my life. I can’t think of…” The omega trailed off as his gaze landed on the door separating them from the lobby.

No _fucking_ way.

That dick.

“Derek, I swear to god. Get your uptight ass in here _now._ ”

A pause.

The door didn’t open.

“I know you’ve had your ear up to the door since we got here. If you don’t come in, I’m going to rip your balls off your body and feed them to _actual_ wolves.”

Low and behold, the door opened to reveal a very not-so-inconspicuous Alpha who had his eyes focused on everything except Stiles.

God damnit, he was cute. Even when Stiles’ lower abdomen was cramping, and he desperately craved Advil and some snuggles, the Alpha was still fucking adorable. Curse him for always being the most attractive son-of-a-bitch in the room. With those damn green eyes and stupid eyebrows and arms that could pick him up and hold him up against a wall.

Deaton looked between the two of him before cocking his head to the side. “Am I missing something?”

“This dumbass,” Stiles accused as he pointed a finger at Mr. Broody and Mysterious, “can explain. Go ahead Der, tell him.”

The Alpha had the gall to shake his head quickly before backing up towards the door, arms crossed against his chest.

“I wasn’t kidding about your balls, _Derek,_ ” he threatened as he made a twisting motion with his hand.

The Alpha abruptly stopped and groaned, palming the back of his neck. He finally relented before grumbling out words that to the untrained ear—aka anyone not in their pack—wouldn’t have been able to decipher.

“Come again?” The man questioned while quirking an eyebrow up.

“He’s my _mate_ ,” the last word groaned out like it physically pained him. Which pissed Stiles off to no end. Especially because he was currently in pre-heat because of this dickweed, and at this point, there were pretty much two solutions. One of which was excruciatingly painful and something that Stiles refused to do; and the other involved an enjoyable act with a grumpy piece of trash.

Stiles was in _heaven._

Fantastic choices, really. Both of them.

“Well,” Deaton said as he clasped his hands together, a barely-held back smirk on his face, “I guess that solves that.”

Stiles had been taught at a very young age that there were two reasons an omega got their heat. One was because they turned eighteen and had their first heat while completely un-medicated. Which was obviously recommended because fucking up an omega’s hormones that young was pretty much detrimental and advised against by any _sane_ professional.

The other was because they had met their mate, and the complimentary scents or overall presence of their significant other triggered a heat to confirm compatibility. In the off chance that an omega turned 18 and happened to be with their mate at the same time? They got lucky with only one heat (especially Erica, who had been dating Boyd since they were 16, far before either presented).

However, that wasn’t even the worst part.

If an omega was lucky enough to meet their mate, and said mate _denied_ the bond, their heat worsened tenfold, lasting longer and increasing the need for companionship _._

It had something to do with the fact that rejection caused an omega’s hormones to become more irresistible in order to attract their mate. 

Basically, if an omega’s mate didn’t want them, then that omega’s body was going to try every fucking trick in the book to get them.

So.

Stiles wasn’t kidding when he said he was fucked.

The fact that he fucking forgot about this important little biological tidbit told him exactly how much he cared about the dumb Alpha. He literally forgot the one crucial part about a bond rejection.

Fucking Derek.

Who, by the looks of him, fully realized what Deaton and Stiles were getting at. Brows drawn down and a look of discomfort on his face, he looked ready to barrel down the door that was now locked, courtesy of the druid. Stiles was even tempted to thank Deaton for the small win but decided against it given the current state of Derek’s _face._

Stiles turned to Deaton and asked, “So what happens now?”

“Are you okay with Derek being in the room while we discuss this?”

“Well, he’s the cause, so if he has a problem with it, he can kiss my ass.” He crooked a finger at the Alpha and motioned for him to sit beside him. “Now sit down and shut up.”

The Alpha did just that.

“Can I get stronger suppressants?” Stiles questioned.

A deep rumble emanating from beside him let Stiles know how much Derek hated the idea.

Just what he needed.

Deaton tilted his head back and forth, weighing his response before stating, “Yes, you could, but I’d advise against it. You’ve been on a combination suppressant/birth control since you were 18, right? No changes?”

Stiles nodded.

“5 years total, with three months on and one month off every year?”

Another nod.

“Then, I suppose you could, if you really wanted to. But because you already suppress nine heats a year, I’d recommend going through this one un-medicated. Whether that’s with _someone’s_ help is up to you.” Deaton finished with his eyes directed toward Derek.

If the look in someone’s eyes could kill, then Deaton would be in a bloody pile on the floor. Because Derek? Fuck. One look at Derek and Stiles knew that the Alpha was _not_ happy.

Whether that was because he might have to fuck Stiles in order to get him through his heat, or because Stiles would choose _not_ to have him there, was entirely up for debate.

“If I don’t take the suppressants, how long do I have until it starts?” Stiles wanted to be prepared. If this was happening, he was staying home. Which included his favorite junk foods, trashy reality television, his entire collection of sex toys, and god-willing, Derek’s dick.

“I gave you some medicine to tamper down your pre-heat so that it would occur more gradually. It should wear off by tomorrow night. Then your heat will be longer, given that it’s mate-induced. Probably five days, no longer than seven. It should follow your normal three-day pattern, though. First and last will be gradual, with the middle being the…” Deaton paused as his voice grew tighter, “ _strongest._ ”

The omega nodded once before responding, “Got it. Can I have the pills? I gotta talk to Mr. High and Mighty over here before I decide what I’m doing.” Words accompanied by a thrust of his thumb to the side.

Despite the fact that the comment probably pissed Derek off, it was unequivocally _true_. Until Stiles could question Derek and get the fucking truth out of him, there was no way he was considering the man beside him as anything other than “douchebag,” “dumbass,” or “cunt-waffle.” The last one was undoubtedly his favorite. It just rolled off the tongue.

Deaton accepted the response before sliding over to his desk and grabbing a bottle of pills off of it. Within the next second, they were in Stiles’ hand as he walked out the door, the Alpha trailing behind him.

It took the omega a moment to realize that a _certain_ alpha was still sitting in the waiting room, a worried look on his face. Stiles knew what he had to do, but it wasn’t going to make it any easier.

He quickly told Derek to go wait in the car and that he’d be out in a minute. After a few more pestering remarks, the Alpha relented and trudged toward the Camaro.

Then it was just Stiles and Dylan.

The alpha met Stiles’ eyes, and the worried look turned into somewhat of a small grin. He propelled himself off the chair he was currently seated on and met Stiles halfway.

“Hey, how’re you doing? You kinda just collapsed…and I just… didn’t want to leave until you told me that you were okay,” the alpha said quietly, a sheepish quirk to his lips.

This was going to be _awful._

Stiles took the opportunity to tuck the bottle into his pocket, away from wandering eyes. Not that Dylan would look, but Stiles needed a little security in his life when it was all about to unravel.

“I’m doing better. Well, as good as a dumbass who didn’t realize he was in pre-heat can be,” Stiles quipped as he laughed softly, shrugging his shoulders.

Dylan nodded, understanding the words not said. “So… that guy. I’m guessing he has something to do with it?”

“Yeah, he’s uh, my…” Stiles trailed off and stopped, noticing the masked hurt in the alpha’s features. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. It wouldn’t take a genius to fill in the blanks.

“Ah,” Dylan paused, “got it.”

Stiles saw the disappointment written all over the alpha’s face. Hell, his shoulders were hunched in, hands tucked into his pockets, and eyes focused on the ground. It wasn’t comforting, especially because Stiles knew how bubbly the man was. How adorable he had been during their date.

It still wasn’t enough to deter him from figuring out what was going on between him and Derek, though.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect this to happen. Things between him and I are… complicated.”

“Hey,” Dylan whispered before placing a palm on Stiles’ upper arm. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. I haven’t found mine yet, but when I do, well…” The alpha trailed off, a small puff of air leaving his mouth as he chuckled. “As long as we keep in touch, I won’t hold it against you,” he joked as he pinched Stiles and brought him in for a hug. It was quick, and ended with a kiss to the omega’s cheek, but it was sentimental and incredibly sweet.

“You’re fucking incredible. You know that?” Stiles whispered into Dylan’s ear before pulling away from the hug and bumping his fist into the alpha’s chest. “Mind if I set you up with someone?”

A certain beta with bright blue eyes and secret soft-side came to mind.

“You fucking better,” Dylan joked before walking Stiles out of the building, waving goodbye as he made his way over to his own car.

Stiles’ eyes were left to land on the incredibly-attractive Alpha currently leaning against the driver’s side of a black Camaro.

Cue the dramatic music.

~

It was a quick ride to Stiles’ house, and thank god for that, because the omega didn’t really have the patience to be in a cramped space with Tall, Dark, and Handsome for a prolonged amount of time.

In fact, Stiles took it upon himself to decide that they were going to stop at his house before going to the loft to talk. Whether or not Stiles would be spending the entire week there was completely determined on the very serious conversation, or _conversations,_ the pair was going to have.

Knowing it was better to be prepared, the omega wanted to pack a bag. Of course, said bag contained a pillow, clothes, toiletries, and of course, all his favorite toys, lube, and lingerie. Yes, it was a lot. But it was all necessary, okay?

He didn’t suffer through Scott’s jabs about him being a boy scout for _nothing._

Sliding back into the passenger seat, bag secured in his lap, Stiles knew that the Alpha was going to ask what was in it. All he got was a gesture to drive. 

With Derek’s grunt, he figured it was enough. The wolf would figure it out soon enough anyway.

Looking out the window as Derek began to drive, he counted the street lamps between his house and the reconstructed loft that Derek had took time reinventing. It was something he often found himself doing on road trips, in order to distract himself. Whether it was trees, birds, or cars, it didn’t matter. It calmed him.

Don’t get him wrong, though, Stiles was absolutely and undoubtedly nervous.

How could he not be?

There was a _very high_ chance that he would be spending his heat week with the man he had crushed on since he was sixteen. A man that—until he left unannounced and with a snarl that looked like he wanted to eat Stiles for dinner—he thought he had a chance with.

Even if the Alpha didn’t end up being his mate, he thought there could’ve been some casual sex, hell, even some _not-so-experimental_ groping. But that casual shit went out the window the minute he realized Derek smelled like freshly-brewed coffee without even having to drink it.

Now, Stiles was stuck with the very real, and very scary, possibility that he was about to present his ass for his mate. And he didn’t know if he was really ready for that. 

Don’t get him wrong. Stiles _loved_ cock. The very concept of a dick was enough to give Stiles a half-chub, and that wasn’t even a dick that was in his _presence_ , hard and ready to fuck him. He was always willing to take a dick, hell, he’d been known to beg once or twice.

But the possibility that the person attached to the dick was Derek Hale?

Well, fuck him stupid and call him Bigfoot, because it was _unbelievable._

Was Derek’s cock part of his most sacred fantasies? Absolutely. Something about the man just made slick drip from his ass, and it was always deliciously wonderful when he got to finger himself for hours on end to the thought of Derek’s cock in him.

It probably should’ve clued him in about the whole mate-thing when the thought of Derek’s dumb eyebrows made him hard as a rock.

Oh well.

One look at the Alpha in question, and Stiles knew that he was stinking up the car. By the way Derek’s hands were gripping the steering wheel and jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt, Stiles just _knew._

Despite his blatant want swirling around the confines of the Camaro, Stiles still kept himself in check. He didn’t even make a move to slide onto Derek’s lap. It was progress. In fact, the omega had enough dignity to not even stare at Derek’s crotch. Well, only for a second. He wasn’t _perfect._

“We’re almost there.”

It was a nice looking crotch.

“Stiles?”

Was that a _bulge?_

“Stiles.”

Oh fuck, he needed that in him _now._

_“Stiles!”_

“Yes?” The omega blinked owlishly at the man who now had the most inquisitive look on his face. Said look turned knowingly devilish when he followed Stiles’ gaze down to his lap. Stiles immediately looked back out the window, humming to himself. The extremely red flush on his face wasn’t going to go down any time soon.

“We’re almost there. One block,” Derek said as he returned his gaze to the road, focusing on the red light they were stopped at. “You okay?”

That little shit knew full well that Stiles was anything _but_ okay. With arousal buzzing in his blood and upcoming heat on his mind, he was anything but okay. With the smirk still glued to Derek’s face, the omega was sure the wolf figured as much.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Everything’s all fine and dandy,” he mumbled as they turned another corner and the loft came into view.

“If that’s what you want to call _dandy._ ” Derek chuckled, a certain playful tone in his voice.

Stiles’ cheeks got impossibly redder. It wasn’t _at all_ embarrassing.

Turning into the parking lot situated on the ground floor, Derek pulled into his customary spot. It was only a few more minutes before they were heading up to the place Stiles was hoping he’d be stuck in for the next week. Wishful thinking, though.

When Derek approached the door, Stiles watching his incredibly-toned muscles work as he lifted the key from his pocket and made quick work of the lock, Stiles’ mind drifted to a thought that hadn’t occurred to him yet.

Stepping into the loft, though, everything came back. The smell of pine, the fact that everything had its place, the impossibly organized way that Derek’s DVDs were ordered alphabetically and by genre.

The scent of coffee infused into every crevice and piece of furniture in the place.

It took Stiles a few seconds for his eyes to stop flashing yellow.

The scent of _mate, mine, safe_ kept enveloping his senses. It was hard to differentiate everything he was feeling, and he had to take a few steadying breaths in order to ground him back to reality. Nothing could have prepared him for the sheer onslaught of emotions he’d get when he stepped back into Derek’s place. It had been five whole years. Five whole years of his favorite man in the world just being _gone_ from his life.

Now he was back, and now Stiles had to figure out what was going on between them. Just looking at the Alpha brought back every feeling he had all those years ago. Imagine what it would be like to actually _talk_ about what was between them. Not to mention what they might be doing twenty-four hours from now.

It was all too much.

Derek’s arms encased Stiles and brought him into his chest, gripping him tightly. Stiles’ heaving breaths slowed, eyes blinking away the tears that threatened to drip down his cheeks. He hadn’t even been aware of his panic attack. But when was he ever?

_“You’re okay, Stiles, I promise you’re okay. Take some deep breaths from me. I’m right here.”_

His bags were forgotten on the ground, strewn carelessly and without regard. They didn’t matter when his nose was engulfed in the scent that was _Derek_. 

_Coffee, mate, mine, mate, mine, mineminemine._

It grounded him, released him from his tension. What overwhelmed him was the same thing that brought him back. It was surreal.

But it was _right_.

A few more deep breaths and Stiles blinked his eyes open, staring at the tan expanse of Derek’s throat. He’d give anything to bury his nose there and inhale more of the musk he so desperately craved.

“You back with me?” The Alpha whispered, eyes worryingly looking down at the smaller boy.

The omega nodded, hands fisted into the front of Derek’s shirt. Loosening his grip, he took a step back, not thinking too deeply about the kiss the Alpha just pressed into his forehead.

It took everything in him to move away from the man. He hadn’t even expected to need this comfort. Hell, he hadn’t even been able to control his emotions when just _stepping_ into Derek’s loft, let alone talking to him. Stiles needed to get his shit together. He needed to keep his composure. Which shouldn’t be hard considering the fact that Derek was a world class dick. 

Derek was still the man who left all those years ago without an explanation.

Still the man who treated Stiles like shit even after realizing they were mates.

Derek is still that man.

It’s that statement that echoed through Stiles’ head as he finished putting his bag into the spare room down the hall. That statement that repeated over and over as Stiles finished putting on his most comfortable sweats and loose shirt. That statement that bothered him as Stiles still felt the heat of Derek’s lips on his forehead. That statement as he laid eyes on the Alpha making popcorn and scooping out ice cream, remembering to add his favorite caramel syrup.

Derek _was_ still that man…

_Right?_

~

The rest of the night was peaceful. Derek cooked Stiles some dinner, which consisted of spaghetti with meat sauce—because it was _Derek_ and the man can’t do vegetarian—and some garlic bread that Stiles wished he could eat every fucking day because _it was just that good._

Wine was poured, too, and it was the perfect addition. Derek drank something extremely sweet that Stiles could only refer to as _fake wine_ , while he had this really nice glass of Cabernet. Honestly, how they could ever agree on a meal is a mystery. They have _severely_ different perceptions for how much sugar something can have in it. The only thing that Stiles will relinquish his Sugar Ban™ for is _actual desserts,_ but even that was a toss-up sometimes.

But dinner was wonderful. There was a certain tranquility associated with the meal; neither of the men talked, and Stiles happily feasted on the food that Derek so graciously made for him. How happy the meal made him was readily apparent, too, if the way he groaned every time he took a bite was of any indication. Which it was, given the fact that Derek’s eyes went dark every time Stiles opened that mouth of his.

So, yes, the peacefulness was nice. Because it was quiet.

_Quiet._

As in neither of them was talking.

About _anything._

Which meant that conversation they desperately need to have? Wasn’t happening yet. And it needed to. Because if what Deaton said was true, Stiles had about twenty-four hours to figure out what was going on between them. And not talking was definitely _not_ the solution to that.

It was only when they were sitting comfortably on the couch, something reminiscent of five years ago, that Stiles decided to put his mouth to use.

“So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

“Which is?”

The younger man stared over at Derek and said, completely neutral, “My ass, Derek.”

Derek fucking _choked_ on the post-dinner coffee he was drinking. He had to set it down on the coffee table and use his shirt to wipe off the drops covering his chin. Cheeks flushing, he managed to clean himself up enough to finally talk without completely butchering what he was trying to say.

“What, uh, what about it?” The Alpha asked, trying to remain neutral even though it looked like he was going to crawl out of his skin.

“Well,” Stiles started, “we both know my heat is coming up, and we both know that you triggered it. So, are you going to take care of it?”

No, Stiles was wrong before. _Now_ Derek was choking. But Stiles didn’t really feel bad. Okay, maybe a _little._ The man deserved it, okay? He had the gall to treat Stiles like he didn’t mean anything, and then acted surprised when this happened. It was kind of deplorable.

When Stiles looked at the man as he wiped off his face and took a few deep breaths, though, he began questioning himself. Derek meant more to him than almost anyone else, save his dad and Scott. Reconciling with him was the most important thing to him, but if Derek didn’t want to, then they were at an impasse.

Despite all that, the main problem on the agenda right now was his heat. So if Derek could stop dying for a second that would be _great._

“Do you want me to take care of it?”

“I mean, I have toys if you can’t provide certain _things_ ,” Stiles said with a pointed look at Derek’s crotch.

Derek groaned, looking like he was ready to just fucking _give up_ , when he said, “That’s _not_ what I meant.”

 _“Well_ ,” Stiles muttered with a shrug.

“Stiles, do you want _me_ to take care of it?”

Tension built in the room, both men staring at each other as if the other contained the secrets of the world. It was so surreal. The way Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes and could just see that there was _something_ there. Something that told him that the Alpha might just want this as much as he does. Something that needed to be talked about but may just be better left unsaid.

Truth was, the minute Derek came back, the minute Stiles _knew_ that they were bonded, it was over. Because Stiles, curse him, would do anything for this man. No matter what Derek did, or said, he knew that he’d care about him until the man did something irreparable. Anyone could disagree with him if they wanted.

But Stiles loved Derek, and while he wouldn’t bend over backward to accommodate the man—besides the _very_ interesting position he found online the other day—he would try like hell to make it work.

So, his answer, which made him bear his soul and show his cards, was a confident and wholehearted one.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, lemme know what you think!  
> I love all of your feedback, comments, kudos, and bookmarks!
> 
> **Next update will be on Sunday, April 5.**


	6. Best Believe that Improbabilities Can Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a huge surprise, they talk about feelings, and woah, there might be some sex?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few announcements:
> 
> 1) Apologies to everyone for being 2 weeks late on the post-date I promised. A lot of things have been going on, school just started back up for me, and I wanted to give you a chapter that was worth the wait.  
> 2) I promise to uphold the post-dates I put in the end notes. I'm trying to stick to that promise, and it'll help me bust out the chapters a lot quicker. (I love writing for you all, and to date, this is my favorite 'fic I've ever written.)  
> 3) That being said, this chapter is **NOT** abandoned. I will be finishing this story, and I can **promise** you that. Just bear with me.  
> 4) There is a sex act in the chapter that's been added in the tags. Details involving it are at the bottom for anyone who may be concerned. I'm not labelling it as dub-con because both characters are sober and consenting adults, but the situation mitigating the circumstance is unbeknownst to both characters, so, y'know. Check the end notes if you're unsure.
> 
> **Disclaimer involving the sex at the end of the chapter (see #4 above).**

Sleep had never been something that befell Stiles quickly. Whether he stayed up late researching, or his medicine hadn’t tampered down the thoughts that ADHD had cursed him with, he wasn’t known for falling asleep before midnight. Ever.

So when Derek and him spend the rest of night lounging on the couch, watching tv, and neglecting the conversation they _just_ had, he didn’t expect to drift off.

But he did.

In fact, after Stiles agreed to Derek helping him through the week, he settled himself against the Alpha’s side, taking in the movie that was playing on Derek’s giant television. Originally, he suspected that the wolf would push him away, ask for some sort of boundaries, but he didn’t. Instead, he huffed out a shaky breath and draped his arm around the back of the couch. They weren’t touching, no, but it was a start. If Derek’s fingers lightly grazing Stiles’ shoulder every few minutes were any indication, it wasn’t like he didn’t _want_ to. No, it was more like he was holding himself back. Which normally would’ve put Stiles off—knowing that Derek would rather prolong this ever-growing tension than give in.

But instead, he was comforted by it.

Usually, he’d be ready to jump Derek’s bones at the drop of a hat. If Stiles owned a hat, but he didn’t, because _hat hair_. The few beanies he owned did _not_ count.

This time, though, the confession that _yes,_ he _did_ want Derek to help him through his heat, was enough to tire out both men. Both omega and Alpha had been too tired from the weight of such a simple word to attempt any other conversation. Which is why they had slumped together, blanket over their laps—at Derek’s recommendation because he _cared_ —and the scent of popcorn wafting through the air.

This was a common occurrence for them, apparently. No matter what had happened throughout the day, if the two of them ended up back at the loft, it resulted in coffee, popcorn, and movies. Not a bad combination, truly. It made Stiles wonder, though.

Was this going to be a common occurrence?

Did he _want_ it to be?

Sure, he cared about Derek, and yes, he wanted to be with him. But was the domestic part for him? He was so used to Derek and him having this love-hate thing. A thing that consisted of mild yelling, blatant sarcasm, and enough glares to write a book. Stiles didn’t know if they’d have the same relationship without them.

Yet, he found himself waking up around 10 am, head a little cloudy and drops of sweat clinging to his neck. Stiles didn’t even remember putting himself into bed, but he _did_ remember a certain Alpha’s arms wrapped around him, so maybe… _maybe?_

As he fumbled his way through slinging on some more comfortable sweat pants, he wondered if Deaton’s calculations were off. He was already starting to feel the effects of his upcoming… predicament. He usually didn’t get this _hot_ until much closer to the first hour. Maybe it was a response to Derek? The whole fucking house smelled like him, so Stiles couldn’t be _that_ far off.

Dragging his feet toward the door way, he took one last look at the additional blanket that had been added to his collection overnight. It looked a little frayed, and he vaguely recognized it as the one Derek and him shared last night. Dashing over to grab it and subsequently slinging it over his shoulders, he inhaled.

It smelt like pine and lemon and _mate_ and everything _right._ If he kept taking lungfuls of the scent as he walked into the kitchen, it was his own damn business.

That kind of went all out the window the minute he saw the Alpha cooking waffles while wearing low-hanging gray sweats and a loose black t-shirt.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Derek murmured softly as he gazed over at Stiles, a slight smile on his face. It was peculiar, to say the least, but seeing as how Derek looked so _comfortable_ and _at ease,_ Stiles couldn’t help but revel in it.

Apparently it took Derek disappearing god-knows-where and the impending situation of Stiles’ heat that finally gave the Alpha some type of affectionate side. Honestly, it was weird, and yes, Stiles would probably question it later, but for now?

Waffles.

Stiles slid onto one of the bar chairs that was set on the opposing side of the breakfast island, folding his hands onto the marble surface.

“Raspberries?”

“And blueberries, blackberries, strawberries. All your favorites, you fruit freak,” Derek mumbled as he set aside the fruit in a bowl, peeling apart mint leaves in the meantime.

Stiles gasped, placing a palm over his heart, “Just because I’m _gay_ doesn’t mean you can call me a fruit.”

Derek’s eyes settled on Stiles’ face and the best description of it was _murder._

“I’m not even going to entertain that. Don’t you know that—.”

Stiles interrupted him, “You’re committing a hate crime, Derek. _Educate yourself._ ”

“It can’t be a hate crime if—.” The timer for the waffle-maker went off as Derek went to finish his sentence. It was a relief, honestly. Stiles didn’t need to get rejected _again._ Derek was straight, completely straight, and the only reason they were going to have sex was because he was doing a friend a favor in relieving them of an excruciatingly-painful heat.

Just something else that pained his heart. A pity fuck. How hopeless could Stiles’ life actually _be?_ There was literally nothing else that could suck more. Give the universe another chance, though, and they’d comeback with something to prove him wrong.

Soon enough, Derek served him his waffles with all the fixings, accompanied with a steaming hot cup of black coffee.

They ate in silence.

It was much more comfortable that way.

~

Stiles currently had a cold washcloth on the back of his neck. It was the late afternoon, the sky starting to darken, the sun hiding beneath a low blanket of clouds. The temperature of the loft wasn’t necessarily hot, but Stiles was starting to really feel the effects of his heat. His body started to warm and anxiety was running down his spine.

His heat came in stages. First was the intense hunger, priming him for the extra carbohydrates he would need when his heat started burning off all the energy in his body. It was this exact reason why Derek had made an extravagant breakfast _and_ lunch for him. Not only was he being showered in waffles and fruit, but he also got an amazing BLT-Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup with garlic croutons. The man was outright _spoiling_ him. In fact, he was currently out of the house and buying them pastas and ice cream and every snack food Stiles could possibly imagine.

And Stiles was lounging around on the couch, buried in blankets and munching on Pop-tarts.

Derek may have been a shit person, but at least he had a great taste in food.

He managed to compile a list of _every single one_ of Stiles’ favorite foods. The man had a great intuition, apparently.

Well, at least he was good for something.

Stiles hummed as he flipped through the channels on the television, taking time to smell the additional blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The omega sniffed it again, realizing that Derek’s scent was starting to dissipate. Knowing he could remedy this by walking about twenty feet, he shuffled himself over to the Alpha’s bedroom.

Logically, he knew he shouldn’t do this. It was absolutely stupid and would just propel him deeper into this stupid mate bond. He was literally about to enter Derek’s space. It was a sacred place, and yes, while Stiles _needed_ something else that smelled like Derek, it was still an invasion of privacy.

His hand stuttered over the handle, breath ghosting over the door in front of him. Thoughts raced through his mind, whirling and twisting until they were a jumbled mess.

Stiles braced himself and twisted the handle, pushing in until he was fully submerged in what he could only describe as a hurricane of _mate mine perfect musk mate mine pine mate coffee._ It smelt so fucking fantastic, and he could do nothing else but dart his eyes around the room, taking in the surroundings.

The room was muted, bed black in a sea of light grays and warm greens. Stiles never knew he would feel so comforted by a _room._ Seriously, what the fuck? And it smelled fucking incredible. He had five senses, and sight and smell were _definitely_ being satisfied.

Keeping his gaze on the bed, he saw a shirt out of place. Tucked between the arm chair and sliding doors that led to the closet, it appeared as if Derek had missed his hamper.

Naturally, it worked out for Stiles. Because he got to reap the rewards of Derek’s oversight. He grabbed the shirt and brought it up to his nose, taking in a deep breath as he collapsed onto the bed, feet dangling over the side. It was heaven and nothing less, satisfying the most primal instinct within him.

He normally wasn’t so attuned to his omega-self, but this was different. This was innate and raw and bear-his-soul shit. Everything about Derek’s scent calmed and excited him at the same time.

It scared the shit out of him.

But the Alpha smelled _so good._

When his heel connected with something under the bed, he stopped his momentary blissed-out scent extravaganza to reach for whatever it was. He tugged out a small black box, hidden by the sheets and comforter currently draped on the bed. It wasn’t heavy, and it had no outwardly designs, so Stiles _probably_ wouldn’t get magicked into a whale.

_Probably._

The omega tugged on the top of the box, letting it fall onto the bedspread beside him. Whatever he thought would be in here left his mind the instant his eyes laid upon the contents of the box.

He fucking went speechless.

Stiles.

Went _speechless_.

Stiles always knew that getting himself into trouble was a regular occurrence. He often found himself backed into a corner with a fucking harpy or siren after his ass. Or upside-down in a ditch when a mer-creature decided that the water fountain he drank out of belonged to them. He was a literal beacon for mayhem.

And he was okay with that.

But this?

This was incredibly different. This would one-hundred percent get him mauled.

By _Derek._

Because fucking hell, what was this?

Items. So many items were in this box. Organized into whatever fashion Derek had apparently deemed worthy. It was honestly a hodge-podge of things that Stiles barely recognized. There was fabric, an empty vile, a CD, t-shirt. That wasn’t even it, either.

The box fucking _smelled_ like him. An overwhelming amount, too. Like this box had bathed in the _Essence de Stiles_ for years. Which meant that everything had belonged to him. Right? 

Emerging himself into this box of apparently _Stiles’_ things, the omega tuned out everything else in apartment. Which meant he didn’t register the door faintly opening and closing in the background. He was too busy twirling a rock around with his fingers. It wasn’t anything remarkable, but it sparked a memory in the back of his head. One that had to do with the back of _Derek’s_ head.

Stiles’ hand was buried-deep trying to figure out what a particular black-braided bracelet was all about when he heard the bedroom door open.

“Stiles?”

Stiles fucking died. RIP. See everyone in heaven. There was no saving him. Because Mr. Wolf decided to saunter in during the precise moment that Stiles was unearthing a fucking treasure trove of all things Stiles.

He froze.

Froze being the right word because he went stock-still.

He didn’t want to turn around. He couldn’t take another extremely-uncomfortable conversation, and Derek’s need to push him away. He just couldn’t. His mind was already foggy as is; this confrontation was _not_ going to go well.

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

Stiles felt his arms go limp, fingers still tightly clutching the box on his lap. He didn’t want to let go. Letting go meant this wasn’t real. That Derek _wasn’t_ harboring a box of things that apparently meant the world to him. That Derek _didn’t_ own a large amount of objects that had apparently belonged to Stiles at some point. He really didn’t want to live in the reality where this box didn’t exist.

Because this box possibly represented something that Stiles was desperately trying to get Derek to admit.

Stiles swiveled his body so he could see Derek. And fuck, it was a sight.

The older man was still grasping the door handle in his hand. It even looked like it was _bent_ , the metal forming to the grip of his fingers. His face was a ghost white, eyes focused directly on the box in Stiles’ lap. Derek looked like he was about to jump out the window. Which was already a common occurrence with him, but still.

Stiles was embarrassed. He was caught red-handed, literally, sneaking into Derek’s room and apparently uncovering something the Alpha didn’t want anyone to see. Once again, embarrassing because that something involved him.

He fidgeted with the box in his hands, looking down at the objects that were sure to ruin his life.

“Nothing?”

The Alpha sighed, walking forward but keeping his distance. His hands were fists at his side, jaw clenched but eyes soft. It was a confusing mess of emotions, and Stiles didn’t know what to make of it.

“Nothing. Really?”

“Yeah, I uh, don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles remarked, completely ignoring the elephant in the room. Once again: common occurrence.

“You found it.” The words were simple, to the point. Stiles couldn’t even detect any anger laced throughout his voice. It was just melancholy, a little regret even. _What exactly did Derek regret?_

All Stiles could do was nod. Words seemed insignificant. There was nothing he could say that would do this conversation justice.

Derek sat on the edge of the bed, folding his hands in his nap, gaze focused steadily on the fabric of his jeans. It was avoidance, simple as that. The energy radiating off Derek’s person was enough to put Stiles even more on edge. He couldn’t read the man; he could never read him. It was incredibly difficult to deal with. All he did know was that the tension in the room was overwhelming.

The sweat dripping down his back was starting to soak through his shirt. It was incredibly disgusting. This entire fucking situation was uncomfortable. Seriously, what the fuck?

Seconds ticked away as both men sat in silence. It was something they were accustomed to. It was easy. Way too easy.

“Derek, what’s—”

“June 23rd, 2012. The first CD you ever gave me. You called me a heathen because I didn’t know who Fall Out Boy was. I listened to it for three weeks straight.”

“Three… _weeks?”_ Stiles asked, lip quivering as he traced the edge of the disc cover.

“March 16th, 2013. The measuring cup you used to teach me how to make chocolate chip cookies from scratch. I still haven’t managed to clean the ceiling of that stain.”

“You weren’t supposed to whisk so hard,” he relented.

Stiles heard Derek take another breath, the covers rustling as he attempted to make himself comfortable. The omega didn’t want to look. He didn’t think he could meet the wolf’s eyes right now.

“What’s this?” Stiles asked as he held up a black bracelet. He had never seen it before.

The omega felt the bed dip behind him, the warmth of Derek’s form only a hair’s length away. It was intimidating, insane, actually, how pent up the Alpha got him.

“That time you saved me from that rogue fairy attack.”

“You were bleeding so much,” Stiles whispered.

“And you used your own shirt to tie off the wound on my thigh. It wasn’t healing, and you… you stopped the bleeding.”

“This is the shirt.”

“That day will forever be stuck in my head, Stiles. You risked your own safety to save me. I wanted to keep the memory with me, always. So I took a scrap or two from the shirt and made it into a bracelet. That way you were with me.”

“You wore something soaked with your own blood?”

Derek sighed, a light chuckle bubbling up in his chest. “I used the part that wasn’t covered in my own blood. I’m not _that_ feral.”

“Debatable.”

“Well, I wore it for years. It always kept me grounded.”

Stiles’ voice went soft. Small in this overwhelming room. “Why’d you take it off?”

“Because I put this one on.”

Derek placed his palm on the space next to Stiles’ thigh. Dragging his eyes away from the box and onto the Alpha’s hand, he noticed another bracelet peeking out from the cuff of his shirt. It was hidden, unnoticeable unless Stiles was looking for it.

He couldn’t stop himself from trailing his fingers over the hem of Derek’s sleeve, tugging it up until he saw what the man was alluding to. With Derek’s shaky breath behind him, he himself was taken aback by the reveal.

Because Derek was wearing the fox-emblem bracelet that Stiles had given him. There was no mistaking it. It was plain-as-day. There it was. Proud and bound around his wrist. Like a bond claim.

“You kept it,” Stiles revered as he gripped Derek’s wrist in his hand, afraid to let go.

“Of course I did. You’re my mate, Stiles. Even if… even if things are.” Sigh. “Complicated.”

Stiles didn’t want to cry. He didn’t. Which is why the tears slowly dripping from his eyes were totally from allergies. _Totally._

“You said you didn’t want me,” Stiles said softly, eyes still focused on Derek’s wrist. It was tough for him to draw his gaze away. Doing so would make everything vanish—disappear—right before his eyes.

“I’m an idiot. Don’t you realize that by now?”

Stiles chuckled, lip pulled back into a small smile. “I kinda figured.”

Derek intertwined his fingers with Stiles’, rubbing his thumb back and forth along the back of his hand. It sent shivers up Stiles’ spine, and he was quickly reminded of how electric the air was. It was suffocating, actually. The heat curling around his body, and the way that Derek was touching him. He never knew he could yearn for someone this much, but honestly, it was no surprise.

“You’re my mate, Stiles,” Derek said as he took his left hand and gripped Stiles’ chin and tilted it to face him. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was rejecting it. You’re my mate, no matter what. Just because you don’t feel…" Derek shook his head, continuing, "I freaked out. I’m sorry,” he whispered as he met Stiles’ eyes.

Derek’s were a dark emerald green, perfectly glowing and filled with emotion. Stiles could look into them forever. They swallowed him in, drew him in until there was nothing left but his soul. Poured out in front of him, bared with nothing to hide. It was fucking scary.

“Don’t think everything’s okay because you said sorry once,” Stiles said, voice quivering a bit as Derek tilted his head, his nostrils widening. “I won’t forget what happened.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Derek’s voice quieted down as he stared down at the comforter. The room started getting hotter, and this time, it wasn’t Stiles’ condition.

“And don’t think you can get out of another deep conversation, mister,” the omega said firmly.

Derek chuckled and nodded his head. “I figured as much.”

Stiles nodded, laying back until he was on his back. Derek followed suit, laying right beside him, the only point of contact was their fingers.

They fell asleep like that, isolated from the world.

~

“Are you going to make me dinner?” Stiles asked as he ran his fingers along the edge of the pillow. They were still in bed, only having woken up a few minutes ago. They had, in fact, slept for two hours, which was no surprise given that emotionally-draining conversations—no matter how small—always took a toll on the pair.

Now Stiles was hungry, unbearably so, and he was aching for some mac and cheese. Not that Derek’s chest wasn’t irresistible, because it really was, but still. Though he had been staring at for a while, the man had needs.

“Do you want me to?” Derek grunted as he turned his head to face the boy.

“Yes,” Stiles’ voice muffled as he buried his head into the pillow and inhaled.

Derek went rigid, nails digging into his own skin. “Stiles.”

“Yes?”

“You gonna keep doing that?” The Alpha grumbled as his eyes fixed onto the ceiling.

“Doing what?” Stiles said cheekily, rubbing his nose along the pillow. It smelled delightful.

The Alpha’s nails grew longer, digging into his upper stomach slightly. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“It smells so good,” Stiles mumbled.

“That’s the heat talking. You don’t mean it,” Derek grunted out as he shut his eyes tightly, trying to breathe through his mouth.

Maybe the Alpha was right. Maybe his impending totally-going-to-happen-heat was affecting him. But what Stiles _did_ know for sure was that he had a few more hours until he’d wake up dripping sweat and slick and God knows what else.

So if he wanted to rub himself up and down and all over the gorgeous Alpha’s bed, well, he was going to do it. Because seriously, look at Derek. He was literally carved from stone and made to be the most beautiful man _ever._

“No, this is Stiles,” he murmured.

Derek laughed, a nice hearty bellow from deep within his lungs. “Did you just quote Spongebob?”

“Maybe.”

“Fucking hell,” Derek groaned as he rolled out of bed. Stiles immediately made grabby hands and pouted into the bedspread.

“Come back and enjoy the warmth,” he whined as Derek tugged his own shirt back into place and paused in the doorway.

“I’m going to make your hungry ass some dinner.”

“My ass is hungry but it isn’t for food, Der,” Stiles basically growled out as he winked at the man.

Derek’s cheeks went bright red as he turned and left the room. The omega swore he heard the words _“death of me”_ leave his mouth as he sauntered to the kitchen.

If Stiles rubbed his hardening cock against the mattress to the thought of Derek’s ass, it was his own business.

~

About thirty minutes later, the pair are sat at the dinner table, about three feet between them, eating mac and cheese and enough garlic bread to feed a small village. Stiles can’t stop moaning and apparently Derek can’t hold down his food.

“How’re you feeling?” The Alpha asked as Stiles was about to shove another spoonful into his mouth.

“Peachy.”

Derek groaned out, palming his face, “You know what I mean. How are you _feeling?_ ”

“Ah,” Stiles mumbled as he put down his spoon, sloshing the macaroni around, “well, my ass is kind of leaking, and I feel like my sweat could fill a pool. But besides that, I’m good.”

Derek’s eyes widened, cheeks going red. It was an adorable look actually. It basically screamed “get me the fuck out of here.”

“Well, that, uh, sounds unpleasant.”

“Just the perks of being an omega. Something you wouldn’t know about,” Stiles retorted, drinking some water.

“What?”

“Nothing, hey, so, _anyway_ , you seriously all good with tonight?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Y’know, because, sex.”

“And?”

“Well, y’know, I have _things_ you’d have to deal with.”

“Oh yes, I definitely know what _things_ means. No need to elaborate or anything,” Derek sarcastically remarked as he ate more of his pasta.

“I have a dick.”

Derek’s face didn’t look as painful as Stiles thought it would. In fact, it looked delightfully amused. Which, considering the fact that the most emotion he had ever shown Stiles was a few hours ago when his hidden box of wonders was found out, it was a surprise.

The Alpha nodded, contemplating the intricacies of his water glass. “I assumed so.”

“ _No._ Like, I have a _dick_. As in penis, male instrument, phallic weapon, iron dragon _._ ”

“You call your penis the _Iron Dragon?_ ”

“Shut up, that’s not the point.”

“And what _would_ be the point?”

“I have a dick! I am a _man._ ”

“Once again, your point? I’m not getting any younger, Stiles,” the Alpha said. Ah, _there_ was the man-pain Stiles had been waiting for.

“You’re straight, and I have a dick. Somehow those don’t really go together—”

“I’m not straight.”

“—well, not all men have dicks and not all women have vaginas, but yes, this man does. Wait. I don’t have a vagina, I have a dick, but you get the point. Let me start over, the point is—”

“Stiles, I’m pan.”

“—the point is, I have a dick, and you don’t like—wait, what?”

“I’m not straight. I’m pan.”

“Come again?”

“I’m pan. You know, pansexual? As in I like all genders.”

“I—I know what pan is. But I’m the queer one! I’m the token bisexual.”

“You do realize that most of the pack are in same-sex relationships, right?”

“That’s not the point. Either way, there’s no way you’re pansexual. Because that would mean you like…” Stiles trailed off, mouth widening as he stared at the man with an unimpressed look on his face.

“I like men, yes. Which is why your dick is totally okay with me. In fact, it’s appreciated,” Derek said, shoulders shrugging as he ate more of his dinner.

“You—You like dick?”

“Are we going to keep saying the word _dick_ at the dinner table?” Derek groaned.

“I’ll stop saying it when you start making sense.”

“Stiles,” Derek paused as he blinked up at the omega, “I like men. Getting a man as a mate wasn’t a surprise. I’m one-hundred percent okay with it being a guy. Got it?”

“So what you’re saying is…”

“Jesus fucking—Stiles! I. Like. Men. I’m perfectly okay with your dick and have been well-acquainted to multiple ones in my lifetime. Okay?”

Stiles nodded dumbly, his mouth still agape from shock. So it really was that simple. Derek… liked men. Had been with men, had kissed men, had probably had _sex_ with men.

And there we go. Stiles mind broke. This was it. The end of his pathetic little life. Well, not exactly pathetic… just more (or less?) remarkable than the next guy. Only so many supernatural deaths could make a man victorious or proud of his accomplishments.

“Yeah, okay. Okay, yeah,” Stiles said, glaring at his now-empty bowl. He wasn’t even hungry anymore. That was a lie. He was _totally_ hungry.

Not for mac and cheese, though.

“So, me being gay really _isn’t_ the problem?”

“Why would it be a problem?” Derek asked, picking up both bowls and walking over to place them in the sink, soaking them with heaps of soap and water. He was never known to be a big conservationist. Except for how much money he dished out when trying to renovate the loft and Pack House. Erica and Scott had to _beg_ him to put some money into the two properties. Without it, they would’ve remained a couple of dilapidated messes.

“Nevermind,” Stiles muttered as he walked away from the table and toward the spare bedroom.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. Derek was supposed to be straight, and that was why he didn’t want Stiles. But now he _wasn't_ straight, so what did that leave? The reason he kept all those items had to be because the stupid mate bond forced him to. Derek was right, all of those people in the movies and magazines were right, _everyone_ was right. The only thing keeping two people together were their supposed bond. There wasn’t a real affection between them. It was just their predestined bond.

It was nothing special. Derek still chose to leave knowing that Stiles was gay. Hell, Stiles had known he was gay for as long as he could remember. The Alpha knew that. He knew everything about the Pack. But he still left.

Stiles’ cheeks flushed red as he walked hurriedly towards the room, steps echoing throughout the hall. He needed to get away from the Alpha. He needed to do it now. Because there was no way the omega could resist him now that he knew Derek was fair game. He fucking kept items under his bed that represented him. This whole thing was starting to be reminiscent of some romantic comedy gone wrong.

He couldn’t do it. He really couldn’t.

A hand stopped him as he began to enter his room. It was scarily warm and energy coursed through him at the contact. This couldn’t happen. It couldn’t.

“Stiles, where are you going?”

“Let me go, Derek. Please,” he begged, eyes starting to glisten.

Derek grabbed the omega’s chin and tilted it to face him. “Why are you running away?”’

“It’s affecting us. Both of us. That’s the only reason this is happening,” Stiles whispered, trying to keep his eyes from meeting Derek’s. It was almost impossible. Those daunting green eyes drew him in like a moth to a flame.

The area between Derek’s eyes creased as he frowned. His thumb traced along Stiles’ jawline, each movement sending shivers down the omega’s spine. It never took much of Derek to steal his breath away.

“Then just,” Derek paused, “let me do this for you. Let me take care of you. It’s the least I can do. Please.” His voice softened, lighter than usual. If there was one thing about Derek, it was that he could catch Stiles off-guard at the most inopportune moments.

“I can’t make you do this,” Stiles whispered as he moved closer to the Alpha, drawn into his frame.

“I want to,” Derek muttered softly, eyes flickering to Stiles’ lips and then back up. When Stiles didn’t protest, because there was no way in hell he was going to, the Alpha surged forward.

It felt like slow motion. The way their lips connected, wonderfully, wistfully. Both magnets, aching for each other; not in opposition, but perfect harmony. Attracting, loving, aching to touch each other.

Their lips moved in sync, wet and perfectly paced. Derek’s hands cradled Stiles’ face with the latter’s wrapped around the Alpha’s waist. There was no space between them, and Stiles didn’t want there to be. The pair of them fit perfectly together, and there was nothing to explain that besides fate, right? Yes, Stiles could try to forget about their mate bond all they wanted, but then what explained the love he felt for Derek before they found out they were meant-to-be?

The kiss described it perfectly. Achingly slow, built-up over years, only happening when it had to be done. Stiles didn’t want to focus on that heartbreaking feeling when Derek’s body was wrapped around him so delicately. It would only destroy the moment.

He might never get it again. This was because of his heat. Derek was doing this to try and calm him down. He was doing this _for_ him, not for _them._ It broke him immensely, but if he was going to be with Derek, he was going to do whatever he could.

So he kissed harder, tightened his group, bruised his lips as much as he possibly could. Derek responded in kind, moving his fingers along Stiles’ jaw until they were tugging at the short strands at the base of his neck. The omega groaned into the kiss, nipping along Derek’s lip. It was perfectly rough and so good in too many ways.

The Alpha decided to trail his hands, which were very large, down Stiles’ body until they were hooked around his thighs. Stiles took the hint and subsequently wrapped his arms around the Alpha’s neck, gripping tightly as the man lifted him up like he weighed nothing. When his legs wrapped themselves around the Alpha’s waist, Stiles pushed into his warmth. He was pleasantly surprised to find a hardening bulge through his exploration. Fucking heat pheromones and their wondrous effects.

With Derek’s arms snug around his legs, and partially his ass, too, they entered the room. Stiles found himself on the bed, blanketed by the Alpha’s warm body. It was a fantastic place to be. Stiles thought to himself that he never wanted to leave. He wanted to be here, forever and a little longer.

They landed on each other, their lips never breaking. Despite the fact that Stiles was now stuck between the bed and the hard muscles that were Derek Hale, he didn’t feel trapped. He felt comfortable, like he was in perfect control and nothing could take that away from him.

The next thing he knew, Derek had removed his lips and was staring down at Stiles. His gaze was unsettling. Breath panting to the point that Stiles could feel it against his face, pupils dilated until they only had a light red ring surrounding them. Stiles felt like prey, but wonderfully so. The look was one of astonishment, wonder, dare he say it looked a little like Derek was _cherishing_ him.

Derek gripped him tightly as he flipped them so Stiles was on top. It was a shock, no, a complete surprise. Derek was an _Alpha_. Giving over control like this was… not like him.

Stiles stared down at him, dumbly, his hands placed firmly on Derek’s chest. His eyes, searching desperately for an answer he wasn't sure he wanted to hear.

“Take what you need,” Derek whispered, hands resting on Stiles’ hips, pressing him down into Derek’s own. “Take everything you need.”

When their cocks brushed against each other through their pants, Stiles moaned. His body was rapidly getting hotter, tenser, wound up until he didn’t think he could hold in the stress anymore. Beginning a slow grind, he desperately wanted to feel Derek without the fabric covering both of them.

The pressure his cock was feeling hidden behind his jeans was keeping him on edge. So close to the edge that he just needed Derek to push him off. Or jump with him. It was then that they began rutting against each other.

Derek’s grip on Stiles tightened further, his hips thrusting up to meet Stiles’ desperate grinds down. It was incredibly hot—the way they were rutting together like they were fucking teenagers. Clothes on, sweat dripping off both of them. Stiles’ ass was producing slick like never before, pooling in his briefs and making them a sticky mess. He craved Derek’s cock, or fuck, at least his fingers, so fucking badly.

“D—Der,” he panted out, arching his back and moving his hips quicker. The angle was perfect, achingly so, but he needed more. Anything.

Derek’s knees bent to give him a better position to thrust up in, and it did wonders for Stiles’ cock. They brushed together more frequently now, catching on each other’s fabrics and creating such delicious friction. Stiles didn’t even want to look down to see the wetness that was spreading between them. They were a fucking mess. A beautiful, splendid mess.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groaned out, digging his fingertips into Stiles’ skin. The pain was just on the line of being too much, but fuck, Stiles _wanted._

“Derek, I…” Stiles gulped, mouth opening to receive air. It was becoming so tense, so stuffy in this room. It was full of their scent.

 _Their_ scent.

“Tell me,” the Alpha commanded, his eyes flashing a weak red. He was losing his resolve. Stiles could feel the small tremors racking Derek’s body. The man was so close to breaking.

“M-More. I need more,” Stiles managed to whine out, eyes glazing over as his ass clenched around nothing. Nothing could help the feeling of needing to be full. _Nothing._

Derek’s hand ghosted around to Stiles’ ass and before the omega knew it, Derek’s finger was hovering over the back of his jeans. Breath catching in his throat, he nodded quickly, hips moving quicker. He wanted it so much, so fucking much.

When Derek pressed his finger down over Stiles’ hole, the omega fucking _roared._ He came, messily in his pants, rutting out his orgasm like his life depended on it. It was fucking incredible. The scent of satisfied Alpha filled his nose, and he came a second time. Palms shaking against Derek’s chest, he tilted his head back and rode it out, moaning the Alpha’s name over and over again.

Derek went rigid beneath him, eyes shutting tight as one of his palms gripped Stiles’ waist and the other pressed firmer over his hole. It was a pleasant cycle of overwhelming feelings. Each man was fighting their impulses; Stiles fought to keep his eyes in check, and Derek’s fangs were itching to descend from his mouth.

The pair rode it out until they were heaped together, lips ghosting over whatever bare skin they could find. It was what the omega needed. He needed something relaxing after something so intense. Wanted nothing more than to bury his nose in the crook of Derek’s neck and just _inhale._

So he did.

Derek shook beneath him, arms coming to wrap around the smaller man’s frame. They were snug, on top of each other, and neither dared to move.

When Stiles finally had the nerve, and will, to speak, he muttered a quiet, “We’re going to be disgusting in about a second.”

“My jeans are already starting to stick to me,” Derek bit out, obviously grossed out.

“The perks of coming in your pants like a teenager, ladies and gentlemen.”

“You did it first,” the Alpha retorted.

“Oh, is this a competition now?”

A beat or two passed.

“No.”

“Well, now it is, and you’re _so_ going to lose.”

“Shut the fuck up and let me get a change of clothes.”

“Get me one, too!”

“Fuck you.”

“Already did!”

Stiles heard a dull thud and a belated _“ow”_ only a few seconds later.

~

Later, the pair are situated happily, though a bit awkwardly, in Derek’s bed. Originally, they had dressed in their pajamas and were set to sleep separately. But when they both hesitated outside the bathroom between their two rooms, they non-verbally decided to spend the night in the same bed.

After all, Stiles thought, it would make it easier once Stiles woke up in the middle of the night to be fucked. It was simple, really. There was nothing meaningful about it, well, to Derek. Stiles, on the other hand, knew it meant the world to him. He finally got to spend the night with Derek, whether or not the man denoted it as being “all part of the heat.”

So there they were, staring at each other, willing one another to talk.

Derek broke first.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah, I needed it. I was getting angsty,” Stiles gulped, his eyes searching for something, “are you okay?”

Derek nodded, his fingers twitching below his chin. The omega now knew that the Alpha liked to sleep with one arm cradling his pillow and the other tucked below his chin. It was adorable, actually. No matter how he turned on the bed, he always had to be in that position. On the other hand, Stiles slept in whatever position he could breathe.

“Are you going to be okay? Is there anything you want me to do?” Derek asked, the glint in his eyes softening as he lips parted.

“What do you—oh.” Stiles cheeks flushed, the color spreading to the tips of his ears. Derek wanted to know about heat. He guessed that this was as good a time as any. Stiles could feel the tendrils of heat start to crawl up his spine; at this rate, it was going to hit somewhere in the middle of the night. He had his backpack in the room, right beside the door, but besides that, nothing was ready.

“Yeah, I uh,” Derek clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Stiles pursed his lips, his fingers itching to brush the rogue piece of hair laying on Derek’s forehead away. A kiss deserved to be there instead.

“Well, the first day isn’t too bad. Once will do. The worst is going to be the third day. That’s when I become… insatiable. If you need any help, I brought _aides,_ ” Stiles mumbled, gesturing over to the bag. There was no way his face was going to go back to its normal color. Permanent state of red? Welcome to Stiles’ face.

Derek merely nodded his assent, nose twitching. Stiles assumed he was probably smelling his blatant arousal and embarrassment. Honestly, the omega really didn’t want to know. He knew what he felt; he didn’t really need to know that Derek knew as well.

“The last day is when I get clingy. Just, ignore me, okay? I don’t want you to handle that.”

Derek’s frown deepened. Stiles didn’t blame him. He couldn’t imagine taking care of someone who so desperately wanted to be near him all the time. If Derek was disgusted by the very idea, he sure as shit had no idea what was coming.

“I’ll be here, anyway, so might as well,” Derek muttered, blatantly disappointed. Good to know Stiles would probably be a burden.

They might be mates, and they might be friends, but that was all that pretty much mattered. Not to Stiles’ great disappointment, though.

“But yes, _aides._ I have pretty much anything in there I might need, or, to put it bluntly, beg for.” Stiles got especially whiney when it came to his heat. He figured his mate in the room would make it worse.

“Got it,” Derek looked disdainfully over at the backpack. Stiles knew looks couldn’t kill, but if they _could,_ that backpack would be fucking dead. Not his fault he was a needy omega.

And a confident one. He had knotting dildos and extra lube and plugs and vibrators at the ready. He was going to be satisfied no matter what. Hopefully, it was Derek’s dick. Usually, beggars can’t be choosers.

Beggars haven’t met _Stiles._

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Stiles whispered, closing his eyes. He didn’t need Derek to see how much _want_ there was.

The silence persisted for a minute or two before Derek broke it again, “I’m nervous.”

Stiles opened his eyes at that, meeting green ones once again. “Why?”

“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Oh.

“I promise you won’t hurt me. Okay? I promise,” Stiles said quietly, reaching out his hand to squeeze Derek’s. Safe to say it comforted them both. There was no getting around that.

“We’ll be okay,” Derek reassured himself, squeezing Stiles’ hand and closing his eyes.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered once he knew Derek was fast asleep, “we’ll be okay.”

~

When Stiles woke up at God-knows-what hour, he blindly reached out for Derek.

His body was on fire, and his pajama pants were sticking to his ass. He could feel the slick pooling into them and soaking through to the bed. Conscious enough to know he needed something, _someone_ , but gone enough to know that he would rut against the bed if he had to, he gripped Derek’s forearm.

The Alpha woke up with only a few more shakes, and soon enough, he was hovering over the omega.

“Stiles?”

_“Derek.”_

All Stiles saw was purple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer:**   
>  **Stiles and Derek engage in a sex act, thinking that the other is into it for different reasons. Derek offers because he thinks that Stiles only needs him because of the mate bond and his heat, and Stiles accepts thinking that Derek is only offering because his heat and doesn't want him romantically.**   
>  **Obviously they're both wrong. (Dumb idiots).**
> 
> As always, I love all of you, and graciously await your comments, kudos, bookmarks, and speculations of what the boys are thinking.
> 
> **Next update: Sunday, April 19.**


	7. hushed whispers against warm skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles enters the first night of heat. Safe to say, he isn't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> Once again, I am *so* sorry for the late update. But as promised, it is finally here! Once again, a few things:
> 
> 1) I've decided to update this story **every 2 weeks**. This way the chapters are longer, I have time to edit and work out the kinks (heh), and I adhere to a strict deadline that allows everyone to get them in a timely manner.  
> 2) Also! I am head-deep in midterm season, and have found myself extremely stressed out and trying to figure out what's happening. So, I promise not to go missing, but these stories bring me joy, so I'm going to do my best to update (looking at you Tutor Me) and publish new ones!  
> 3) Yes, you heard right! I'm going to publish new stories... which means...  
> 4) I might need a **Beta** or **pre-reader**. Let me know if you're interested in the comments!  
> 5) Tags have been updated because there is *drumroll* ....... SEX in this chapter! Woot woot woot. I have labelled things appropriately, and even though this is a Heat 'fic, I've taken the liberties with outlining what Stiles is and is NOT okay with. Therefore, all of these acts are consensual and ongoing, which means, the two characters try to confirm with each other as much as possible given the circumstances. Everything is appreciated, and if either of them didn't want something to happen, I promise they would speak up. There will be more sex discussion in later chapters by the characters.  
> 6) Sex sex sex sex sex (yay!) -- And it ain't done, yet, folks. But this chapter is literally smut. That's it.

Stiles’ breath was completely stolen from him. He knew that waking up with his body aching and absolutely on fire meant that he was in the beginnings of his heat. He knew he would be short of breath for the next hour or so. But what he didn’t expect was to be taken by such surprise in the first _minute._

Because as soon as he opened his eyes, he saw something that shook his entire core.

Derek’s eyes were _purple_.

Which, when in response to an omega, could literally only mean one thing.

 _“Alpha,”_ Stiles whispered as he took Derek’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs back and forth across his cheekbones. His eyes were breathtaking. No longer obstructed by the dark red hue, save for a thin circle around his irises, Stiles could finally look into the man’s true eyes. They were _gorgeous_.

Derek was panting, trying to keep himself in check as he hovered over the smaller boy. Stiles could tell it was taking everything in him to keep himself from smothering Stiles in his scent. He knew the pheromones emanating from his body were enough to put someone who wasn’t his destined mate into a psychotic fugue.

“Stiles,” the Alpha breathily sighed, “you need to tell me what I can…” He trailed off, jaw clenching as he tried to stop his fangs from dropping.

“Your eyes,” Stiles whispered, one of his thumbs trailing over Derek’s lips and the other drawing him in closer. “I need my _alpha_ to touch me.”

Derek nodded as he pressed his lips onto Stiles’. It was wet and slow and _perfect._ His face started to heat up as he pushed the lower half of his body into Derek’s. The friction was absolutely delightful. He literally wanted nothing more than to feel Derek’s bare cock on his.

This was enough. Derek grinding down into him, the amazing way that Derek’s tongue was teasing along his lips, begging to be let in and twist around his own. He willingly opened his mouth, letting Derek fuck into it like he owned it. Which at this moment? Stiles was completely okay with admitting that he _did._

Their bodies rolled together, hips matching their lips as they bruised and fit together like puzzle pieces. Nothing would separate them, not now. They were connected, Stiles’ arms snug around Derek’s neck and Derek’s planted on either side of Stiles’ head.

They were one, and nothing could’ve been better. Unless Derek’s cock was inside him, pounding away until he was nothing but a mess reduced to deep gasps. Stiles needed him to make him forget about the pain, his heat, the overwhelming need to claim him.

Stiles wanted it all, wanted more, wanted _anything._

“ _Touch me_ ,” Stiles begged, nipping at Derek’s lip and sending the man into a frenzy. The alpha was on him, pulling at his shirt, his pants, tearing off everything in order to get closer to Stiles’ bare skin. Stiles was burning up inside, sweat dripping out of every pore of his body, and yet he wanted. No, _needed,_ Derek’s chest on his. The wolf was warmer than anyone he knew.

And _yet._

In the sudden lust that overtook them both, Derek’s shirt was lost. Stiles’ nipples peaked up on his chest and within the next moment, Derek’s mouth was covering one. His lips suckled at it thirstily, like it would assuage every want Derek had. Once he bit down, Stiles was a goner. It caused him to cry out, fingers finding purchase in Derek’s hair as he rode out his first orgasm of many.

Once his hips stopped bucking, Derek looked up at him hungrily, a trail of saliva still hanging off his lips and connecting with Stiles’ chest. Which apparently was sensitive enough to cause him to come in his pants. The omega had to remind himself that he was _not_ a teenager, despite what his orgasm habits indicated as of late.

“Stiles,” Derek cooed, smiling something feral before dipping down and trailing his fangs, which were now slightly out, down Stiles’ bare stomach. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely before nipping right below Stiles’ navel. Another delicious shiver racked his body.

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbled, blushing all the while. He honestly didn’t want to think about Derek trying to pity-compliment him when he was about to give him _another_ orgasm. He _also_ didn’t want to think about the fact that Derek was about to see his come-soaked pajama pants.

Blissful ignorance was the sole reason he didn’t want to admit Derek could probably smell them from where he was.

The wolf hooked his fingers around the band of Stiles’ pants before inhaling. As his nostrils flared, Derek’s eyes turned a darker shade of purple. Nothing could stop the subsequent whine that left Stiles’ lips as Derek darted his tongue out and began to kitten-lick at the damp spot on the front of his pajamas.

Fucking fuck fuck.

Derek was going to be the literal death of him. The fact that his mind was starting to fog over wasn’t that helpful, either. His heat wasn’t in full-blown mode, yet, so he’d be able to remember it, but everything would still be a little hazy.

“Tastes good,” mumbled Derek as he continued his tongue bath on Stiles’ pants. The omega was seriously about to come again if the man didn’t stop. And the next time he wanted to come was in Derek’s hand. Or god-willing, his _mouth._

Which was apparently what Derek was thinking, too, because next thing Stiles knew, his pants were down, and Derek was suckling at the head of his cock. Which felt like nothing he had ever experienced. Yes, Stiles had gotten head. And yes, most of the people who had given him head were overly-enthusiastic.

But nothing compared to the feeling of his mate’s mouth on his cock. Nothing. It was like kissing someone while drunk and having everything feel numb. That feeling. But _better._

Because Derek’s mouth was hot and warm and perfect, and Stiles’ cock was leaking like a faucet. The Alpha happily swallowed him down to the base, groaning and making furtive attempts to swirl his tongue as he went. Stiles was going to get his brain sucked out through his dick, he just knew it.

All he wanted was to lay back and let Derek do what he wanted.

So he did.

The wolf continued his tongue assault and Stiles’ cock, making sure to slide his plush lips along the length and back down again. Stiles’ felt his toes curl as his orgasm began to form at the base of his spine. He was trying to do everything to stave it off, but honestly, coming more than twice was a regular occurrence during his heat any way. So why wait when he had a willing partner?

“Der,” his words garbled as he tugged at the strands on the back of Derek’s neck. The man groaned and suctioned harder, his tongue doing this little flick on the underside of Stiles' cock. The omega’s back immediately arched off the bed as his cock spurted come.

Derek swallowed it down greedily, making pleased little humming sounds as he smiled up at the boy, licking his lips. His grin was something dazed, lips still pressed to the tip of Stiles’ cock. Eyes hazy, cheeks flushed, Stiles thought he looked something angelic.

It didn’t counteract the fact that his body was still burning up. Two orgasms were usually enough on the first day, but those orgasms usually involved a thick dildo in his ass. So.

“More,” he gently whispered, trying to stop his hips from bucking up but ultimately failing.

The alpha’s eyes flashed darker as he nodded his head, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ thighs and teasing them apart.

The way Derek’s eyes lit up as his gaze zeroed in on the junction between Stiles’ legs was enough to elicit another drop of slick from his hole. He was clenching around air at this point. Everything in him wanted Derek’s fingers or his thick, beautiful cock in him.

So when Derek’s tongue flicked over where Stiles was the most sensitive, he absolutely _lost_ it. Whining into the air and arching his back enough for Derek to grip his legs and hold him down, he was in absolute heaven. Derek’s tongue flitting over and dipping into him was too amazing to describe.

“Der,” Stiles moaned, eyes hooded as his hands clenched the sheets on either side of his body.

The wet slide of Derek’s tongue opening him, pressing into him with intent made him keen. Heaven. Stiles faintly heard someone begging, urging to go harder, faster, _sloppier._ It took him to a moment to realize that it was _him._

“Take you apart,” Derek panted from between Stiles’ thighs, “make you come just like this.” Darting his eyes downward in a moment he would soon regret, the omega saw Derek’s jaw, covered in his juices, mouth opened and glistening. He was a fucking sin.

Stiles didn’t know if there would be anything that would top this. Hell, he just wished his head could be a little clearer so he could fully enjoy how Derek looked with his slick covering his face. He would write sonnets about it.

Later, though. Definitely later. So fucking far in the future that it probably didn’t even matter right now. So, yeah, back to the fact that Derek was currently eating him out. Yeah. That.

Derek got the hint that Stiles started to lose his focus a bit and quickly pushed down on the undersides of Stiles’ thighs, propping his ass up better so that he could tongue-fuck him with abandon. It worked; Derek’s knees tucking up under himself as his head bent over to dip back into the wet, hot, slick heat.

The new angle had Stiles virtually bent in over himself, but he seriously didn't fucking care. Because Derek’s tongue was fucking _spearing_ into him. Stubble burning into the soft flesh behind his hole, leaving a tortuously _amazing_ pain in its wake.

Somewhere deep inside, Stiles knew Derek was marking him, in some primal, instinctual way that only he knew. It wasn’t marking with his come, which, fucking hell, he wanted, too.

But it would satisfy him, _both_ of them, if Derek’s grunts and whines were anything to go by.

Derek’s tongue fucked into him more fervently; Stiles’ stomach clenching with both effort and the feeling of dripping more slick onto Derek’s awaiting tongue.

As Stiles’ cheeks flamed, both from his over-eagerness and the way he whined for the alpha, _his_ alpha, he murmured _more_.

Derek pushed himself back a little, gripping Stiles’ ass apart and looking at Stiles’ hole as it clenched around air.

“Fuck, Stiles, look at you,” he rasped out, “all open for me. So fucking wet. You’re so wet for me, aren’t you, baby?” The way his eyes bled purple and focused in on Stiles' glistening, red asshole was enough for the omega to try and curl in on himself.

“Der ‘mbarass’d,” he panted, throat hoarse.

“You’re perfect, Stiles. So good for me,” he said as he slicked up a finger with Stiles’ slick and slid into the perfect heat. Stiles' breath ripped away from him.

It slid in easily, thanks to Derek’s ministrations, and soon enough, Derek was scissoring two in and out of him, searching for the one spot that would make him fall apart.

“Open up, Stiles. Just like that,” Derek groaned as he rubbed just _right._

It was like electricity—the power that shot up through his body and made every single nerve ending light up. His mind went blank, nothing but the thought of chasing his pleasure, the need to come. God, he wanted to come. He wanted to come so badly.

“M’close,” was all he could mumble, tongue lolling out of his mouth as his body went limp, Derek taking the brunt of his weight.

“Good,” Derek groaned out as he watched his fingers disappear into Stiles’ body, tugging at his rim before pressing down on his prostate. “Come for me. Do it.”

“Gonna—mm,” Stiles babbled, going silent as the feeling built up. Once Derek inserted another finger and curled it, locking on his rim, Stiles came undone.

He came onto his stomach, messy, so fucking filthy that Derek made this little punched-out sound. Stiles closed his eyes, tight, his cock spurting out whatever come it had left. His hole tightened, trying to keep Derek’s digits in him as best as he could. He needed them. Wanted to feel plugged up, _owned_.

Derek obliged.

The alpha even unfolded his body for him, tucking up beside him and using the blanket to clean off his stomach. Blinking at him with as much energy as he could muster, he puckered his lips. Once again, Derek obliged. He kissed him, softly, a look on his face that Stiles was too dazed to dissect. All he knew is that it gave him butterflies.

Derek even tried to take out his fingers once he was settled behind Stiles’ back, to which the omega would _not_ have it.

“Lv’m’n,” Stiles garbled out, something that Derek even had trouble deciphering. C’mon. If he could speak with only his eyebrows, he should be able to know _any_ language.

“Come again?”

“No,” he pouted, tucking his hand beneath his chin and burying his head into the pillow. “In.”

“In?” Derek asked, voice soft, playful.

Stiles clenched around Derek’s fingers, mumbling once again, “In.”

Derek’s breath stuttered, ghosting on the back of Stiles’ neck. The omega hoped that meant he figured it out. 

Huffing out a light chuckle, Derek pushed in close, leaving no space.

With the comfort of his alpha’s fingers in him, nose pressed against the spot beneath his ear, Stiles drifted to sleep.

~

However many hours later, but what one quick look at the clock told him was eleven in the morning, Stiles finally woke up. The bed was empty when he did, cold without the warmth of somebody pressed up behind him.

It felt odd, devoid of whatever happened last night. Stiles couldn’t help but feel his stomach drop, twisting uncomfortably. It was one thing to fall asleep with someone.

It was another thing to wake up _without_ them.

Turning until the ceiling was in view, he began to wonder. Was spending his heat with Derek that smart? Yes, he was a fucking idiot, and yes he made bad decisions. But still. The entire situation read _danger: do not enter,_ but Stiles was literally too stupid to know better. He kept letting his emotions get in the way of what needed to happen. Stiles knew that this heat was going to a product of fucking hormones and anger and pity. That was all.

Finally gathering enough courage to walk into the kitchen, blanket tucked around him, the only fabric covering his body besides a new pair of briefs—seriously, modesty wasn’t a factor at this point—he bit his tongue.

The remnants of last night still clung to his skin. Their scents were one, heady, a delicious combination. Stiles wanted to roll around in them, bathe in them, take apart every single scent that he could detect.

Smelling of _them_ was literally the only thing holding him together. Words spoken in hushed silences, against clammy skin and arched backs, were nothing but pleasure’s side effect.

But when Derek smiled at him from where he was leaning against the corner, a cup of Stiles' favorite dark roast coffee in hand, he wondered.

Wondered if the only things in their relationship were vaguely-disguised anger and misplaced lust.

Maybe they weren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all catch the big reveal?? We now know what Derek's presentation is! Yay for subtlety!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> As always, please comment, kudos, bookmark, subscribe. I look forward to *everything* you all have to say. It means the absolute world to me.
> 
> **Next update: Sunday, May 10, 2020.**


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